


Breaking Gilded Chains

by UraniumFever



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Body Modification, Confused Fenris, Dom/sub, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Humiliation, M/M, Objectification, Punishment, Rewards, Slavery, Smut, cross-dressing, dark!Hawke, extremely submissive Anders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-10-31 00:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10887999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UraniumFever/pseuds/UraniumFever
Summary: Written in response to a Kinkmeme request, this story follows an alternate universe where Anders is a trained Tevinter Slave who is found and taken in by the Hawke gang.  He was used in Tevinter as a pleasure slave and has virtually no understanding of free will, naturally Hawke makes the easiest connection and suggests that Fenris take Anders under his wing: misunderstandings, difficulties and smut ensues as Fenris tries desperately to not give in to temptation.While this is a bit older (about a year), I'm currently getting back into Dragon Age and wanted to share some of my previous work - new chapters to come!





	1. A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the original Kinkmeme prompt:  
> "Because slave!Anders is always interesting (and hot) to play with. I was rereading "To Tame A Raven" and was captivated by Anders's characterization. In this AU Anders would have been a slave to start with (doesn't have to be a warden or even with Justice, just a pleasure slave) found and brought into the party only after Hawke and co had killed a traveling magister and found him inside.
> 
> Cue totally submissive Anders, he wants to pleasure the companions (up to A!A if any of the companions are dark... I can see certain Hawkes enjoying a submissive Anders in the wrong way but if not it's fine). Anyways, Anders comes under Fenris's protection one way or another and needs to go about the task of teaching Anders to be free... letting him know that he has no master, can eat whenever/whatever he wants, etc. It takes Anders a long time to overcome this, however.
> 
> +for Fenris who has to keep rejecting Anders because slaves can't consent but Anders wants it bad
> 
> ++for Anders who has no practical skills - he was literally just a toy that had everything done for him (he doesn't even know how to bathe and requires Fenris)... though he is still a spirit healer who was told to reserve his talents for his master. It could be cute if Merrill went into this whole magic class with him letting him know he could do more than just heal for people. Anders is totally impressed with magic in the Free Marches even though he comes from Tevinter.
> 
> +++for Fenders in the end (though mHawke/Anders or Varric/Anders or even Isabela/Anders is totally cool too)
> 
> ++++accurately portraying Stockholm Syndrome through Anders
> 
> +++++for Anders being rescued from the Blooming Rose at some point
> 
> ++++++Anders thinks Varric is a lyrium seller most of the time - because where else would he know dwarves from?
> 
> Kinks: d/s, reward/punishment, watersports, crossdressing (or nonbinary!Anders), humiliation (<\- maybe the Templars find Anders at some point and Anders has no idea what they even are), collars  
> Squicks: gore, bestiality (unless it fits in the story)"
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> A/N: I am uploading this to AO3 to hopefully receive more feedback as that is what truly inspires me to write. I'm upset I've drifted away from this story but I'm hoping to be able to write for it again and more in-depth as time goes on. To any new readers, I hope you enjoy the story.

“Another magister gone,” Hawke turned to look at his companions with a cocky smirk and a feigned serious attitude, “with the wind.”

Isabela moaned, “Please stop with that joke, darling, it’s getting annoying and no one ever laughs at a damn word of it.”

“It’s a good joke!” The bearded man smiled widely as he wiped down his sword, “I mean, once I kill more evil magisters it will make more sense but you see--”

Fenris didn’t care as his friends bickered over the details of a joke, he was busy setting his mind at ease. His master was already dead… the blighted magister dead. This man was not his, but he was one to others. He walked trepidatiously, bare-feet treading well traveled road as if the faceless magister’s deathbed on the coast was sacred ground. 

The mage recognized Fenris, he knew he must have - the way his eyes scanned along the elf’s tattoos, assorting them to a particular memory where the man was still leashed around another’s fist. Fenris was always by his old master’s side, through parties, celebrations, anyone who knew Danarius could easily recall the lyrium riddled elf he strung behind him. For the elf to be without his master now must have led to the worst, and most accurate, conclusion about Fenris - that he had killed his master. 

To kill one’s master in Tevinter was the ultimate crime and it meant that even though Danarius was gone, void of life, Fenris’ punishment still waited for him in a distant land he would never call home again. A large sum of gold laid there perhaps, taunting others for his rearing to justice. Wind brushed against Fenris’ cheek, the magister’s belongings scattered to the gusts better than his lifeless body did, rendering Hawke’s joke rather strange in sentiment. 

The elf stood before the caravan the magister had traveled in, the bodyguards slumped against its wheels. He had been in their place a time ago, fighting to the death for the protection of his owner. Gold, diamonds, rare magical artifacts scattered on the rocky path, all wasted and waiting for a new hand to turn in. Isabela mulled over a few pieces carefully before stuffing them away in the area between her breasts. Hawke picked up several unbroken bottles of wine, popping their corks and cheering as if it was Wintersend and he hadn’t just ended the lives of several men. Even the dwarf mused as he pushed through several tomes written in Tevene.

Fenris wanted nothing here. He refused the wine, refused his share of gold. He withheld his voice, not wishing to explain his anger to people who wouldn’t understand. All he did was watch, glad his own master was dead and he was able to be free, live the life he wanted.

The pirate pulled at the caravan’s doors, “Hopefully there’s something in here to eat. I heard all magisters were fat sods - maybe cherry tarts, or salted meats?”

Fenris joined her, “Any food would be kept in a special compartment so as to deter thieves from relieving the magister of his property to easily.”

The pair stopped short of entering, however, a whimper brought them to their feet.

Varric and Hawke joined behind the two, hearing that sound, a near-wail that willed itself to quiet. Isabela stepped in first, gently, the woman had an instinct of her gender when she wished. They listened closely: it was a man’s voice, it sounded lonely, desolate.

“Do you think it’s a bodyguard?” Hawke turned to Fenris, hoping the man and his never-ending knowledge of Tevinter and slavery could help him. There was no response, but the bearded man drew his sword nevertheless.

Isabela moved carefully over fine bedding, plush pillows, expensive carpets - so extravagant for someone leaving only for a short vacation. She inched closer to a blanket covering what could only be a crate or a small armoire, the whimpering was coming from inside.

Her fingers tensed on the delicate silk as she pulled it slowly over the box. The companions could not move, they could only stare and try to discern this image of a naked man bound to a cage as reality. He was hunched over as much as the cage allowed him. The cage itself was made of a decadent gold, imbued with gems and provided a peculiar juxtaposition for the man trapped inside. The man did not look up, his pale spine and long hair obstructing his face from the intruders.

His whimpers stopped, but the companions did nothing, only staring in awe. The man’s neck was marred in a lavish collar, wound tightly to the bedpost so that even if the man managed to escape the cage he was still tied to some degree to another object.

Fenris trembled slightly as he stepped forward, “The key is above the bedpost.”

And it hung right there, right within sight of the naked man. Cruel, offering him freedom so close, just out of reach. Fenris was familiar with such mental torture.

“Should we kill him? Will he attack?” Hawke was daft but correct to be cautious. Some bodyguard slaves were kept in cages such as these, but only because they served a secondary purpose.

“He is but a pleasure slave, Hawke.”

Isabela turned in horror as she unlocked the cage and carefully touched the man’s shuddering skin, “A pleasure slave?”

They talked about the frightened slave as if he wasn’t there - the man in question took no notice of it. Fenris moved next to the bed, “His only purpose is to pleasure his master, look beautiful and beg for more.”

With that the man looked up, fear ridden in his eyes, “Where is Master?”

Hawke opened his mouth to reply but Varric held him fast. It was only Fenris who was right to reply, “He is no longer here. You are free.”

The man understood trade but he made a face as if Fenris spoke in tongues instead. Freedom was not a word many slaves ever bothered to learn. He shook his head, “No, no, I must go to Master.”

He stood, wobbling as if he had been locked in that position under the blanket for the entirety of the trip. The companions stared at the slave, taken aback by his body and his openness of flaunting it. 

Fenris knew many pleasure slaves, they never stayed for long. Eventually their hair grew gray, their bodies sagged, a scar was left after a punishment and they were rendered nothing. This man looked older, but perhaps he was still favorable for sentimental purposes. While age was seen in small wrinkles near the eyes there was still no mark on his skin, instead it was pristine, like porcelain. The way he moved was also noteworthy to the ex-slave, carefully observing these long legs that seemed to dance quietly across the floor as he walked, most likely something he was trained to do. The slave ignored all of them even as they moved with him to see where he was off to, his goal and purpose was not of them - this man needed to find his master, regardless of what he heard while locked up… he had only one duty.

The slave sucked in a breath loud enough everyone could hear, his voice wavered, body fidgeting in disbelief as he looked down at the corpse of his master. He fell to his knees, crying now as tears dripped freely along those unspoiled cheeks. The blond hair was perfectly tended to, his body smelling of lushness and sin as it fell onto his master’s chest with clenched hands of despair. It was hard to purchase submission and loyalty of this caliber. 

He must have cost a small fortune.

Fenris moved next to the slave, feeling unequipped with the means to help the grieving man. He would have been distraught as well if Danarius had fallen, a man born into the servitude of another would feel like a failure, that he should have died in place of his master - but they were all false ideas spurned by lords of manipulation. The elf knelt offering the slave a shoulder of support as he collapsed deep within his master’s lifeless robes.

“I beg,” he swallowed harshly in between his tears clasping his hands like the most desperate sinner in a chantry, “I beg you please, please remove my collar, only a moment - I beg for only a moment.”

The key seemed all encompassing, magisters enjoyed doing it as such - so that their slaves knew all it took was one simple band of metal to lock them up. No slave he knew ever bothered an attempt to gain it. 

It clicked into his collar and the slave’s eyes lit up with worry; trained anxiety flooding his mind for whatever he was going to do might not be enough to get him out of the punishment of removing his collar. His hands began to glow and Fenris stepped back, distorted memories and flashbacks of magic pushing him away from the accursed mage.

“Master,” the man pleaded with the dead body as his healing magic failed to stir it. He tried everything, closing the wounds that no longer bled, rubbing the tired forehead that no longer thought. His grief seemed unending as he resorted to cleaning his master, “Master please, please wake up. Your slave needs you, please.”

It was useless and unsettling for the group - to them it was disgusting. It was a show of how wrong and revolting Tevinter was: to have a slave cry over his master as if the man was his friend. Hawke shook his head, brows creased in a pained face, “He’s dead.”

The words were simple but the slave would not hear them, even now as he laid in his master’s blood. He threw his head onto his master’s chest, perhaps waiting for a heartbeat to return. His whole life seemed to be over, gone as simple as that.

“You’re free,” Isabela joined Hawke after a moment, she shook her head, “You’re free and he’s dead. There’s no reason for you to serve.”

He fidgeted with his hands briefly, absorbing the words, before finding his unlatched collar once more - the tool that locked him off from magic - and resorted to pressing his nose to Fenris’ feet as he begged for it, “Please lock my collar, Messere, I humbly ask this of you.”

“No,” the word was strong and fast, even surprising Fenris as it left his lips.

The slave shook his head, physically distraught, “My master… I know I will be punished but please let me wear it.”

“No,” he began again, “Your master is dead and you will not be punished.”

Nothing in him could accept that answer, it didn’t fit in with anything he had been taught. He grabbed at the collar and flimsily tried to reattach it to his frame without the lock. His eyes looked up and begged, great big amber spheres - though they still did not meet Fenris head on as an equal’s would.

“Do you have a name?” Isabela stepped forward again, deciding to sit on the ground at the same level the slave hunched. She reached out, stroking his hair from his eyes, admiring his long nose and exotic features.

“My Master calls me Anders, Madama.”

“An Anders from the Anderfels I take it? Isn’t that original,” Hawke smiled bitterly but no one bought into his humor, not even himself. This was how he attempted to diffuse upsetting situations, but there was no way around that feeling, that gut-wrenching understanding of how broken this man was.

“I do not know, Messere,” he shook his head, “Master purchased me when I was very young.”

“You are a mage are you not?” Fenris joined Isabela, it’s not that he cared in particular for the man or any other slaves, rather he feared of himself in the same situation with no one to turn to or help him organize memories. He figured this was a mere common courtesy, “Were you not given a contract or apprenticeship to buy yourself out?”

Anders shook his head slightly so that the weight of the collar still pressed on him without slipping, “Master said my skills are for healing him only. Master said it would be a waste to learn something else. Master wanted me by his side and I want only to please Master.”

“He sure likes the word master doesn’t he?” Hawke smiled down at Varric but the dwarf never looked up to acknowledge his joke. This was not the place, but no one ever claimed Hawke as a social genius.

Fenris looked into those eyes, always downcast, the brown and yellow flecks never totally looking up and mixing together in the sun. He arched his back and stared, “Do you know what it means to be free?”

The man shook his head initially but the elf knew he couldn’t comprehend the question, “All I need is Master.”

“Hawke killed your master, I killed him as well, so did they,” Fenris nodded to the group behind him, never once breaking his hold with the man, “Did you know why your master was here, those bodyguards were they new?”

For the first time since he had fallen into his owner’s robes the mage straightened himself, “Master has a home in Antiva he travels to in summer for Tevinter is too hot, he chose me to accompany him.”

“Why did he have you in a cage?” Isabela knew the answer, she did not know if the man did.

His eyes never moved, “Master protects me from those who would harm me,” realization hit him as the words left his lips, “Y-you will hurt me.”

“No, we won’t harm you,” Hawke stepped forward, but a large bearded warrior that had been unabashedly guilty of murdering the slave’s master was not the gentlest approach, “We can take you back to Kirkwall if you like, you will be free to do whatever you wish there.”

“Why did you kill him?” Anders’ hands moved clumsily as he protectively held the dead man in his arms, wrapping his head in his lap and never once relaxing the hunch in his back as if he would strike if they posed to attack again, “Why would you,” the tears began to fall down those stained cheeks, the slaves’ world crashing before his eyes, “Why would you kill Master?”

“He’s not a good man,” Hawke couldn’t understand a slave’s woes, he would never know what it was like to rely on someone who abused you as if it were love, “He was going to attack us. It’s wrong for a human to own another.”

“Master has elves,” Anders shook his head, the slave was not stupid rather extremely uninformed and they could not blame him for that. He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist looking up slowly at those before him, “Are you my new masters?”

Hawke moved to answer, to spit at such a suggestion but Fenris rose his hand to stop him, “What are your skills, mage?”

He tried to avert his gaze but the way the group was bearing down on him he felt he should meet their eyes, “I-I,” he shook slightly as he leaned himself forward towards Fenris’ crotch, “I can pleasure you, I can make you feel better. Please, let me perform, do not kill me.”

The elf pushed away in shock, letting the slave’s nose hit the dirt, “No! You must have other skills?”

“Can you clean?” Varric grabbed the elf’s arm before he backed away and bothered Anders further. Fenris checked himself knowing the slave must feel as if he’d failed in the only thing he was told to be good at.

“Master did not use me for cleaning but I am familiar, if it is your wish, Messere, I shall clean for you,” he rose steadily trying to stop his shaky breaths, “I only live to please.”

Hawke attempted to lighten the mood yet again, “Perhaps he can go clean up Fenris’ hovel of a home?”

“Hawke--” the elf turned.

“That sounds like a good idea, Broody can pay him and help him adjust to a new life.”

“I,” the elf looked down at the broken human, seeing so much of himself in that hunched, confused body. He wanted to ignore it, lock it inside himself and never have to face what his old life was made of, “I will help him.” He stuck his hand out to the man, “Here, can you stand?”

Anders grabbed the fingers after slight hesitation, scolding himself for pausing even a moment in front of his new masters. The elf moved carefully as he helped the weak man to his legs, there was a slight wobble in them as if one side had fallen asleep. It happened quickly, his body falling slightly and Fenris catching him.

The slave dropped from Fenris’ arms and threw himself to the ground beneath him as if arrows had begun to rain down from the sky, “Master please, I apologize, I am sorry, let me fix it,” he reached for the ties on Fenris’ leggings with frantic breaths.

Fenris carefully pushed the man away, much gentler this time, “No. I do not require your services, please stand.”

The slave obeyed, picking his collar off the dirt and quickly rubbing it clean as if it were the urn they kept Andraste’s ashes in, then he draped it over himself once more. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, the man was so quick to follow, eager to serve. None but Fenris had lived through it in Tevinter - Anders hung his head, expecting to be punished for simply losing his footing.

“I will not punish you, A-” he paused trying to remember the name, names were important to slaves… it was something they thought they owned, “Anders,” he finished, “I need you to collect the most valuable items from your master’s cabin and then bring out your own belongings.”

He didn’t know if the slave owned anything, some pleasure slaves had a special oil or trinket their master had presented them with at some point - they were usually the most beloved of the slaves for their adeptness in providing comfort and therefore the most treasured. Fenris and Danarius had had a different relationship as he was not entirely purposed as a pleasure slave, only complying when his master had wished.   
Fenris turned and watched as the man gathered priceless jewels that had been hidden under floorboards, an unopened case of lyrium, enough food to feed a small village and one small ornate chest that he kept close on his person.

“Anders, do you have any clothes you can wear?” Varric was next to the slave, his approach gentle and with a nonchalance that eased everyone out of their heightened awkwardness, “It might get a little uncomfortable in the Kirkwall weather.”

He leaned back into the cabin, making sure everything was in order and also leveled his emotions - they had run high and now needed time to calm. So he concentrated on his orders, giving little heed to the nagging in his mind. Master had packed outfits for him, promising to present Anders to his relatives in them. Anders always gushed at such attention, loving it as his master petted him and talked about issues far too important for a slave like him to comprehend.

“These are all I have, Messere,” Anders bowed his head once more, “which pleases you?”

Isabela moved for the neat pile as Hawke and Fenris took their steps back - they were socially confused around the man and had shown all they did was make things worse. Varric and Isabela were “people” people, they could talk the ear off of the richest king all the way down to the lowliest slave and that is exactly what they were attempting to do - cooing over him, offering a slice of an apple to his lips so he laid down his defense. Hawke stood by and watched, looking in those eyes, watching how they occasionally fought to steal a glance at the dead magister but were willed into stillness. Bred submission.

“Anders, darling,” Isabela spoke to him as if he were an old friend, “these are all women’s clothes.”

“They are mine,” the slave pressed on, holding a corset to his chest favorably, “Master enjoyed these the best.”

“Your master bought you all of these?” The elf shook his head, Anders was a very special slave then to have outfits and rare pieces readied for him. It wouldn’t surprise him if Anders had his own slaves to tend to him back in Tevinter.

The man nodded, as Isabela handed him a short wrap skirt trying not to judge any of it. It was none of her business if the man preferred wearing ladies’ clothing or dolled himself up - whatever was most comfortable made the best sense for now. The skirt was decorated with several pearls sewn into the edges and rather transparent but at least it wasn’t only one hand long like the others. Anders took it from the kind woman and wrapped it around his slim waist, bowing it at his side so that as he moved his left leg was still visible to those who cared to view the flesh.

He fidgeted still as the pirate folded his remaining clothes wanting to throw himself at her feet and accomplish this small task for her. But he was told to remain still. Anders watched as they piled his master’s old valuables onto one of the horses pulling the caravan, its pack was large and overflowing - still he held onto the box master had given him for his own possessions.

Varric stood next to the man, everyone was more at ease that the man was now at least covered. The collar was still draped around his neck, but the dwarf prided himself on being fairly personable; he once talked a chantry sister out of her robes through trial and error, “So, how are you doing?”

The slave ignored him as if he hadn’t said anything.

The dwarf pressed again, “Hey? Hello?”

“Oh, I apologize, Messere,” Varric watched his face grow strained as he attempted to make up for the mistake, but a hand on his arm stilled the man.

“It’s no problem, I just want to know how you’re feeling? Tired? Hungry?”

Anders shook his head, “Your kindness is merciful, Messere, I require nothing.”

Varric nodded, hoping to get the man’s attention off of the dead magister, “You speak Trade very well… where did you learn it?”

“Master allowed me to learn because of the guests he receives. I would serve them,” he turned to the dwarf, “I am also accomplished in Orleasian, Ander, and Antivan.”

“That’s impressive,” Varric smiled, “I always thought magisters taught their slaves nothing?"

Anders’ nodded enthusiastically for the first time since the group had met him, “Yes it is quite unusual, Master brought tutors to me, languages to him were impressive and he thought his slave should be able to perform for people all over the world,” he blushed a moment, “it was I who asked to learn Ander however.”

“Did he not approve?”

“He bid me, he said it was his fault for putting foolish ideas of my past into my head but he would not deny me, Master loved me.”

Varric held his tongue, not wanting to tell the man that’s not what love is, “So you can read? That’s a feat to note, most servants can’t even read.”

“Oh no,” the man shook his head, “A learned slave is a burden on his Master and the Maker,” He repeated those words as if he’d heard them everyday of his life, “I only learned to speak.”

The dwarf sat back and fixed the cuff of his coat, he wasn’t hugely in touch with the Andrastian faith but he did know, at least, that the verse Anders had just fed to him was butchered from the one the Chantry tells. He had to look away from the man, it wouldn’t do either of them any favors if he told him he was wrong, or had been lied to. He let him keep this.

“Well, we’re ready to head out,” Isabela returned with a smile. She was incredibly sweet when she needed to be - but Varric presumed it wouldn’t last, she’d proposition the man before the day was through most likely.

Anders lowered his head as more people gathered around him, flicking his nails and playing with the nonexistent dirt beneath them. He had been bathed, pampered and made up - he looked to be in better shape than even the nobles of Hightown. The man tried not to bite his lip out of habit, “Would you like me to carry anything? Help you? I can help.”

The pirate moved for him, carefully, “No, we don’t need any help, darling,” she placed her hands on the chest he was holding tightly, “might I place this with the rest of the items? It will get heavy after a while.”

“It’s mine,” Anders owned nothing, now not even belonging to a master. Perhaps it sounded possessive but after losing so much already survival had kicked in and he couldn’t bear to lose more of his life. He bowed his head carefully, “I apologize, Madama, but it would be most kind if you let me hold this myself.”

Fenris moved ahead of the group, directing the horse with Hawke at his side, “Leave him be, Isabela. We should head away from the Coast before scavengers come for the rest.”


	2. Foreign Beauty

“And so as I finished slicing him a new one I said,” Hawke turned to Aveline with proud eyes as if he was still impressed by his own feats, “I said,” he almost choked with laughter, “Another magister… gone with the wind!”

The large woman blinked at him, unamused. She sighed before biting the bait he had set up, “So it was an interesting day, then? You certainly brought many items back.”

He nodded, “That’s right! And I even saved a fancy pair of gauntlets just for you… because I’m awesome like that.”

“You’re something alright, Hawke,” she sounded bitter but couldn’t bite back the small smile as she picked up the new gloves.

“And you made a new friend!” Merrill’s eyes grew wide with interest as she stared at the blond marvel at the end of the table.

Anders seemed disinterested in the conversation, focusing solely on a hole in the table cloth as if his eyes could stitch it back. He still wore little but Hawke had tossed him a tunic to cover his chest at least. The young man was swimming in it but the rare jewels racing around his neck still managed to show as he fidgeted. 

Merrill didn’t feel quite the same awkwardness as the others in talking to a slave, “You are a mage in Tevinter are you not? Would you please tell me what it’s like to live there?”

“You fool,” Fenris rolled his eyes, grunting in a disgusted manner at the Dalish elf, “he is no magister or apprentice, he was a slave - he knows nothing of the revolting powers other mages hold.”

Anders’ focus only magnified on the cloth, perhaps a method he used to fade into the background in presence of others; Fenris had known of a few similar.

“Well that doesn’t make much sense… why would they enslave a fellow mage?”

Her question was innocent for someone who knew little but it hit too many buttons in Fenris, he lashed back, “Because they’re all spineless cowards who seek enjoyment from the pain and misery of others. What sick magister would not find enjoyment in forcing another mage to pleasure him?” He turned noticing the small movement Anders made in the moment he denounced magisters, the elf scoffed, “Have you a different say, Anders? Then speak.”

“Bid thee?” His head moved just a bit before fully committing.

“Yes, speak freely, mage.”

Anders sat back, eyes still focused on that hole, “Master was not cruel and did not force me. Master was kind and loved me.”

Hawke knocked back his beer, always annoyed with weighty conversations at the table, “See, you’re speaking for the man, Fenris. Maybe not every slave has it so bad.”

Before his words were even given a chance to settle in the room Fenris had stood to accost his friend. How dare he say something so frivolous, make light of something so harsh. A man like Hawke would never understand; that slaves didn’t have the luxury he had of working their way to the top, that they would always be in one spot their entire life.

Fenris opened his mouth, finger pointed to accuse but found himself frozen in the moment Anders let out a small squeak. The whole table turned to the mage once more, his eyes despondent. The elf watched his face, noticed the strain the slave was trying to mask so that no one might dare think he had feelings or needs of his own.

“Speak, mage, what do you need?”

His voice wavered, “Need…?” He struggled to ask, he should be content instead, “... relief.”

“Relief?” Hawke watched the slave incredulously, whether surprised or confused it was a look that wanted to know more.

Then it was clear to Fenris, the man was asking to relieve himself, “You need the toilets?”

“Yes, Messere,” he nodded quietly, “Permit me?”

Fenris shook his head, “You do not need to ask for permission, you may go,” he pointed to the hall, “leave the building, take a right and another right down the alley next to this building - they have wooden doors there for the piss pots.”

Anders looked up at the man, not full eye contact of course but enough of a look that told Fenris he had been entrusted with leading him through this task, “Messere…” he wasn’t sure how to ask for things, it wasn’t usually his place to do so - but so far there had been no beatings for such behavior, “Please,” it was a whine if anything.

“No, I will not accompany you,” Fenris was stern, “you are a free man do it yourself.”

He shook his head, becoming more distressed by the minute, “Please, please,” his face grew hot with shame as he fought instincts to hold himself between the legs.

“Does he not know how?” Hawke asked the first appropriate question he had thought aloud that entire day.

Fenris’ stomach coiled uncomfortably as the realization came to him, “Did your master…” he wasn’t sure how to word it - a slave should feel no shame in doing his master’s bidding, though that was sometimes rarely the case, but still he did not wish the humiliate the man, “not let you use…” he hoped the man could decipher the broken sentence himself.

Anders shook his head, “No, master always decided when or where,” he clenched his muscles noticeably, “Please, Messere,” he could feel his eyes growing wet whether from embarrassment or pain, no one knew. 

“Makes me sorry we didn’t kill the freak sooner,” Hawke’s face alone could paint everyone’s reactions in the room. Fenris had spoken stories of magister’s cruelties when pressed but for the first time his companions were all seeing it in the flesh. The tales of magisters’ lust for blood and pain didn’t seem intangible now that they could witness the after effects first hand.

Fenris stood, offering his hand as a beckon, “Come,” Anders seemed relieved but the elf put an end to it, “This will not be a habit. You will relieve yourself from here after.”

“Bless you, Messere,” the slave almost smiled as he quickly moved behind Fenris.

His skirt had hitched up on his left thigh, giving a full face of leg and more to anyone who looked. Isabela nodded, “Good thing he’s going out with a bodyguard… looking like that who knows what might happen in Lowtown.”

Hawke nodded, approvingly, “He is quite attractive isn’t he?”

“Really, Hawke?” Aveline groused, “The fellow was a slave for as long as he knows and you’re thinking about bedding him?”

He tilted his head, running a large hand through his beard thoughtfully, “Well, I wasn’t thinking about bedding him but now, thanks to your timely suggestion, I am.”

The redhead punched him in the shoulder, hard. Everyone knew he could take it but it did not mean he didn’t need it every now and again. Hawke merely chuckled into his refilled mug as he went about nursing it.

Anders and Fenris had left the shoddy bar, but not without several leers from the more drunken patrons. Fenris made a mental note to find new attire for Anders - damn what he thinks he should wear. That would be it though, he promised himself. He’d teach Anders for a month tops what he had to do to be a free man and then send him out on his own; this was not his job.

The slave was practically leaning into Fenris breathing a bit heavily, like an invisible leash was dragging him towards the man. He didn’t seem to mind that Fenris tried to push him away. They stopped before the rotting toilets just outside the Hanged Man, even if he hadn’t given Anders directions and had to escort him he probably could have found his way. Fenris turned his back out of a sense for the man’s privacy expecting the man to go about his business (Free Marcher customs were different from Tevinter’s and he had found over time that he quite agreed with them), but no movement was made.

He was sharp, “Use the pot, Anders… you’re about to wet yourself.”

Anders bit his lip, “Permission, Messere?”

“Yes!” He whipped his head around, fed up with this ridiculousness he knew he couldn’t wholly blame the slave for, Fenris could see the hurt in his eyes but revolved around to his original location as the mage went forward. He rubbed his temples and waited to hear the telltale sign of the man relieving himself. Even Danarius hadn’t been this sadistic.

There was nothing for a few moments, and then a trembling sniff. Fenris shook his head and stared at the taunting night sky, what had he done to deserve this?

“Messere?” Weak, barely above a sob. As much as Fenris wanted to snap at that voice he couldn’t - he was better than a magister. He choked, astonished, as he moved next to the slave and saw his cock unsheathed. He had tried to avoid taking in the sight earlier when the man was stark but now it goaded him; the gold apadravya poking through head, sneering at him as if to encapsulate all that Anders was. Fenris had never thought himself so squeamish but now found himself disoriented. Trying to grasp the situation he found himself only able to ogle in foolishness, noting how the cock was pointed towards the bowls as it should have been and registering nothing but tears streaking down the man’s cheeks, “I can’t… I’m sorry.”

“Are you…” Fenris suddenly felt very inept next to an uncovered pleasure slave in the middle of Lowtown at its worst hour, “shy, or?”

Anders brought a single finger to his eye, wiping away the tears he had been scolded for brandishing in the past, “Master always held me.”

“Held you?” Fenris recoiled, he was not going to hug this man as he pissed, if this is what it came down to he was backing out now. But then he realized it wasn’t an embrace that the man had meant. He damned his conscience and picked up the man’s member helping aim it.

The mage sighed pleasantly, in a moan that was far too attractive for the situation, Fenris felt a slight blush rise as he watched the man’s face untighten. A stream quickly hit the bowl and Fenris watched a pleasure slave in all his worth - an object, a plaything. This man wasn’t even human enough to control his own pissing habits.

Fenris still turned, though the privacy meant nothing to Anders. Anders had always been praised, built up to show off his body in a way that pleased the many. This face he was making, absolute respite, as he went about such a task was a training you had to pay in bountifuls of gold and time. Perhaps teaching him to be a free man would be more difficult than originally thought.

To take a cook slave and teach her how to translate her skills to a Miss’s house where she could be paid and treated perhaps not as an equal but at least a human being was easy. For a body guard slave to be taught to wield his weapon for a mercenary crew was not as difficult a transition. Fenris himself hadn’t adjusted seamlessly, there were still customs and body language cues that no slave would have hopes of understanding without years of practice. But a pleasure slave… to take them from what they were, merely someone’s personal contentment, meant to sever their only livelihood.

Anders had known how to do nothing more than serve.

Fenris listened for the steady trickle to stop, Anders wouldn’t be the one to tell him when the task was complete. He turned when he felt the end was near, only to take in an eyeful of what Anders was. Head thrown back, eyes partially lidded, mouth parted just enough as if it were ready to open for any guest. There was a breath Fenris didn’t know he was holding, his grasp on the man’s cock tightening only a second out of reflex.

The man moaned, loudly, wantonly. It was honey to the ears, dripping into Fenris and causing involuntary shivering. Could Anders sense it, or was this perhaps his routine? He moved slightly, bucking his hips so that Fenris’ hand was now rubbing against him and his readying member. It was submission in its purest form, it was like a dream… a partner so willing, so grateful.

To make a sound like that, a whine, a shameless sob for more contact, would stop any man in his tracks and fill him with a feral madness that would drive him to the source. Fenris stared at that face and he could not deny its handsome beauty. The way the man’s long hair framed his foreign features, touched his pale shoulders. To describe the man’s skin was difficult for it must have been near sickly to be so white and still retain a pristine illusion, it was as if his previous master never let the man in the sun… not an ounce of light had touched this prize.

Fenris shook his head quickly, removing his hand from the audibly lascivious man, “You are not an object,” he said this more to himself than Anders it seemed but it did not change the situation. He was begging like a whore in a skirt that covered next to nothing outside of a dirty bar in the worst area of town, “We need to go back inside.”

“Thank you, Messere,” his smile was almost wistful as he followed behind Fenris, as if that small touch had won him over for the day - that was his reward. Other slaves would find it the moment they were allowed to lay down, bathe, eat… but not slaves such as Anders.

“You shouldn’t make those noises, I am not praising or rewarding you.”

Anders’ face responded in a tightening of his features, now worried, “Did I offend, Messere?”

Fenris threw open the door, confusion and anger mixing together into an unreadable state, “No. Just,” he turned to the amber eyed man and just one glance sent those noises he made back, filling quickly into Fenris’ head, “Just go upstairs, I need a drink.”

“Trouble in paradise?” One of the more talkative usuals at the bar cocked his head at the pair, entering their conversation uninvited, “Ain’t he a looker?”

The elf tensed with a bluish energy, “You will do well to stop looking, if you know what’s good for you.”

He turned to move Anders along but saw him smiling instead, it was a proud grin, triumphant. He was proud that his new master was so possessive of him, so directing and kind. Fenris noticed every bit of this reaction and sent him away with a snarl.

Anders was unsupervised for the first time since leaving his cage, this was his reprieve, a moment to relax. He observed the strange bar he found himself in, old floorboards, a hazy smoke that seemed to spring from nothingness. He missed the marble, the statues, the strange fire other mages could conjure in sconces. This seemed less grand than he was used to.

A man whistled as he moved up the stairs, he shown at the approval knowing he must not have been covered completely. If only his master were here he might direct Anders to pleasure, to do his job.

He noticed the dwarf poke his head out of their small room, “We’re in here, blondie.”

The slave tilted his head slightly, as if to question. He was referred to as many things but only several made sense: slave, my pet, Anders; any other name was confusing. But he heeded the dwarf’s call, perhaps he was a lyrium merchant of some merit - his master often did business with such men, so regardless of what the man’s profession was he reminded Anders of home.

Their faces turned to meet the man, most trying to appear as normal as was polite. He moved delicately back to the seat he had shared with the elf but was stopped by a large arm.

“Why don’t you sit next to me, Anders?” Hawke smiled something fierce as the man complied without a hitch.

Aveline gave Hawke a warning with her eyes as the man met them again, helping Anders into his new chair. By chance he ran a rogue hand down that exposed thigh, shuddering as the mage hummed a breath inside himself. To be so sensitive to touch…

“Does he want something to eat?” Merrill suggested, trying to make her voice heard in a room where so often others were louder.

Hawke wet his lips, his face one of predation, “Are you hungry, Anders?”

“I don’t know, Messere.”

Varric shook his head, “Don’t tell me this is like the pissing thing again.”

“Here,” Hawke held a torn piece of bread to the mage’s lips watching with unwavering attention as they opened and closed around the tips of his fingers. The warrior wished he could throw such a man on his lap right then and there - but that would be quite unwise with such an audience, he figured, so he settled for feeding the strange creature.

Isabela couldn’t deny the scene, had this submission not been won through involuntary means of survival she might be following Hawke’s footsteps. But she knew from experience men like Anders could never consent in such a state and didn’t feel right about taking advantage. That’s not to say she judged Hawke for doing it himself, however, in fact she quite envied the warrior and his lack of a moral high ground in certain, more grey, matters on several of the occasions they had run into together.

Anders lapped at the beer presented before him, not unlike a small house pet. His face curled as the bitterness rushed through him.

Hawke chuckled in delight, “You don’t like beer, hmm?”

He knew Anders wouldn’t reply but that made the game all the more fun. They all heard the footsteps on the stairs, knew who they belonged to but Hawke remained uninvolved - focusing only on his exotic wonder… Fenris’ pet.

“Hawke!” His name was ground out of a disapproving mouth and everyone turned to find an angry Fenris, “Leave him.”

“I’m only feeding him, Fenris, relax!” He threw up his hands in mock surrender.

The elf shook his head, several more emotions mixing in with the anger and confusion of before, “He is leaving now. I will be in the mansion.”

Anders swallowed delightedly over such a scene being caused over him - his reward for being desirable. Fenris needed to only meet eyes with him for the mage to stand and rush to his side. Something internal within him yearned to please Fenris, nudge his face between the elf’s thighs, make the man shower him praise. Of course he did not act upon any of these wishes.

“Grab your box, Anders,” he directed and the mage followed.


	3. Learning Curve

There were few people on the streets tonight as it was a bit colder than usual. Anders followed in Hawke’s oversized tunic, something Fenris should have thrown away so the man had no further excuse to seek out Anders. He knew his friend well, that if there was a challenge, something new out there, he would do anything to conquer it.

But he would not take a pleasure slave against his better judgment. If the day came where Anders was in control of himself, enough to make such decisions for his person, with full knowledge he could say “yes” or “no” that stance might change. As it stood, however, that would be a long time coming. 

Fenris opened the door to the mansion, letting Anders take it in as he lit several candles, “Come, you can sleep in a guest room.”

“Will I not be sleeping with you, Messere?”

“No,” Fenris stopped, “You will be sleeping in your own bed, waking, eating and pissing whenever you please. Do you understand this?”

He nodded.

“Be honest with me,” he was sterner this time and watched the slave’s expression change.

Now he shook his head, “I’m sorry, Messere, I don’t understand,” Anders paused, only now aware how tired he actually was from the course of the day’s events. Perhaps this is what caused him to not mind his manners as best he usually could, “Why can I not sleep with you? If you are upset then might I not sleep at the foot of your bed? Please, Messere, I do not want to displease.”

“You are a free man, you have no master who requires your comfort.”

“I do have a maste--”

“You have no master!” Fenris was louder this time, though it was clear how the pair of them were originally trained differed. He was trained through yelling, scoldings, beatings and while he suspected Anders must have been beat at some point his skin said otherwise, meaning the man must have been rewarded and praised for good behavior instead. Different masters.

Anders blinked slowly, confused and lonely, he had hoped after the death of Master Cavallius he might be brought to the private rooms of the slave auctions in Minrathous. Not here… not in this foreign land where he was hated. He wanted to be touched, to be ordered, to be loved and he found none of such things in this colder wasteland.

Fenris shut his eyes and sighed, “Anders, you are free… meaning you do not have to answer or listen to me. Meaning you can walk out this door if it pleases you, that you can punch any oversized noble you see. Can you comprehend this?”

“But if I live here with you, and I serve still…”

“You will serve through cleaning and be paid. If you do not want this job you can tell me at any time and leave.”

He leaned in closer, “I wish to stay with Messere.”

“From now on you call me, Fenris. Do not call me, Messere or Master. I am Fenris to you, do you understand this?”

Anders nodded slowly, “Y-yes, Fenris,” the word sounded strange and tainted on his tongue, as if his body responded with this unpleasant taste in means to punish him itself.

“If you do not like the dark you may also sleep with this candle in your chambers,” Fenris helped guide Anders upstairs, taking the steps carefully - whether he would own up to it they both moved in the same careful manner, out of habit mostly, to not wake their now nonexsistent betters. They turned before the main banister where a man of merit in the house could speak to his guests below, “My room is this one,” Fenris pointed, “Do not enter it unless there is an emergency - that is the only rule I have for you. Otherwise,” and he moved forward to the smaller guestroom next to it, “here is where you will sleep.”

And while it was smaller than the master bedroom it was hardly lacking. Anders stepped into the room as Fenris passed on the candle to him, he took note of the uprooted floor tiles and cracked walls, but there was promise to this room. In the corner were several emptied bottles of liquor that time seemed to have forgotten Piles of old, stained pages scattered around the forgotten fireplace which made the room seem lived in but not cared for. Fenris moved forth to light it, grumbling to himself as the sparks refused to catch.

All Anders could do was stand back, watching the elf who was intent on training him into something different than what he was. He sat on the bed as Fenris left without another word, closing the door behind him, and found himself untying his skirt and folding it carefully into the chest he kept in sight of. Life with master hadn’t always been fantastic (at least he could admit this), some nights he acted so in the wrong he couldn’t be forgiven, but even knowing some days were better than others he couldn’t deny the truth that the best moments of his life were shared with the man. At the least he was fed, taken care of and worshipped… this was most different.

The moth eaten blankets stared at him tauntingly, they were not the Antivan silks he usually found himself wrapped in. He looked around the room cautiously, watching the fire flicker objects in and out of view; he was alone. Anders couldn’t even hear Fenris from wherever he was in that big foreboding room. Without any further hesitation he curled himself in the blankets, realizing that his skin was beginning to prickle with chill he began holding the scratchy fabric closer to his chin.

He wanted to weep for his new life, this horrible life of being a “free man” as Fenris put it. It was a feeling of utter loneliness. As he closed his eyes he tried to picture Master’s legs wrapped around his lithe frame, strong and sturdy as always. The man’s wine flavored breath tickling him as he slept soundly embracing his pet. 

It still didn’t feel right. Even with the fire slowly lulling him into a dream-like state he felt nervous to find sleep.

Fenris couldn’t claim of having an any better night himself. The way Anders had looked at him, spoke to him, followed him like a docile dog were images that both nauseated him and tempted as they permeated his subconscious. It wasn’t fair. Anders was a walking testimony to everything Fenris hated: a dutiful slave who even in clear evidence of the atrocities committed on him defended his master... and a mage to top that. To some degree he didn’t pity Anders, if the mage was too weak to take advantage of the skills others of his ilk easily exploited, well, his enslaving was just a consequence of survival of the fittest.

But he also couldn’t throw blame wholly on the blond. Being a pet to another meant sacrificing self-identity whether through the illusion of being rewarded or from the fear of punishment for subversion. Anders had given up an individuality, he couldn’t think for himself, do for himself. And hadn’t Fenris himself also felt a similar disconnect in his past life with Danarius? He gave everything to that mage and had been repaid in nothing but a loss of self. It had taken years for him to move on his own, to ignore orders from others or at least stop to consider if they matched against his redeveloped moral identity.

Unwillingly his eyes slowly shut in the darkened room. Sleep was neither welcomed nor turned away for Fenris knew either way he would have this conversation in his head, this battle of what was right for the newly freed slave but a door away from him. This would be the new war waged in his mind until the day he saw a physical change. He had one blanket on his bed that he now reached for, it wasn’t wholly destroyed yet, though if he continued to throw his armor onto it after a long day it might as well become shreds.

Sleeping in itself was always a strange concept for slaves, it was a time when they were “free” of their own accords for a moment but also a time few would remember afterwards. They had the opportunity to dream anything: being a magister themselves, climbing on top of a tempting mountain in the distance, finding a lover of their own… but so often slaves knew not how to dream these fantasies of other locations and freedoms, they knew only what they experienced. Anders slept softly to a memory of him and his master in the Fade together, him being used for what was intended and his master humming delightful praises.

It had taken Fenris several months of free sleep to develop a new point of view in his dreams, not being a mage meant it had to happen on a level he couldn’t control but eventually his nightly ventures did shift. Fenris laid there tonight as he did most nights, reaching the moment in his head where his hand gripped around Danarius’ throat, a mere two more seconds of that sequenced world and the man would be gone, wiped from existence. But a persistent knocking that beat into him even from deep sleep prevented him from that delicious end. Even with the curtains hastily drawn as his eyes blinked their first it was clear the sun was high and bright: most likely half past noon. He swung the door open, angry and ready to bitterly scold whoever decided to wake him - he knew it was not Anders.

“Hello, Fenris,” Isabela grinned at him with a sparkle in her eye, to say they were the only thing that might calm him this morning would be an understatement, “Hawke wants you to join him today, we’re going up the Sundermount.”

“Is he out there?” His voice was like gravel.

She nodded, “Yep, he decided it’d be best to wait for you in your lovely little guest room, covered in more spider webs than the Bone Pit,” she raised her brows a moment, signaling to the guest room, “So, is your pretty friend still here?”

He rolled his eyes as he pulled on a separate shirt, Fenris cared little if the pirate saw him exposed, she did enough exposing of herself on her own. Together they moved from the bedroom to the guestroom, afternoon sun filling in from the torn blinds. Anders was on his knees already, hunched over and shirtless, hands clasped together as if he was praying.

And perhaps he was praying, Fenris took note of the sodden bed, wet with what only could be the man’s urine. He grumbled as he shut the door lest Hawke decide to join the scene.

“Anders,” the man looked up, eyes awake and watchful, “Did you do this to your bed?”

“Yes, M-m,” he paused, filled with dreaded anxiety, “Fenris,” he quickly corrected.

The elf shook his head, anger not having its weight so early in the morning, “Why?”

“I couldn’t hold it any longer,” for the first time Anders couldn’t hold his head up to meet Fenris even though he knew it was proper. Fenris observed this, wondered if Anders knew this was shameful.

“There was a chamberpot next to the bed,” he kept calm, practically feeling Anders tremble, “It’s okay, Anders, I’m not mad… just…”

A heavy body pushed open the door behind them, “Are you coming, Fenri--”

The elf whirled around to meet Hawke, determined to not have a repeat of whatever strange delight he got out of “helping” Anders yesterday. Their eyes met and Fenris had seemed successful in subduing Hawke from any comments, until the warrior noticed Anders’ bed. Something then stirred in Hawke, primal desire perhaps, but Fenris pushed him steadily out of the room.

“I will get my armor on in a moment’s time, let me speak with Anders before I leave.”

Varric was now behind Hawke along with Aveline, all looking on with piqued interest. Fenris would have to do this with an audience.

“Shall,” Anders stood, hands clasped in front of his body, “I be accompanying you?”

Hawke’s teeth showed bright as the question came into play, “We can always use a healer.”

“No,” Fenris was sharp, “I do not think that is wise, Hawke, for now anyways. The man will decide for himself when the time comes but he is not in the state to do so,” he moved for Anders, stepping in closer, “If you’d like you can clean today.”

Anders seemed displeased with this, eyes wide with some sort of fear Fenris could not read, “Please, do not leave me alone… please.”

“See,” Hawke nodded to the handsome blond man, “we should take him.”

“Again, no,” he didn’t even bother to turn, Hawke would continue to do this, he was aware, instead he looked at Isabela on his left, “Perhaps you can stay with him today.”

“But,” Anders still struggled to use the name Fenris had ordered him to speak, “Fenris… I do not know what to do.”

The elf nodded, looking to the floor for nonexistent answers, “Then I have three tasks for you today,” an idea struck, “And if you should accomplish them well I will reward you.”

That got the man’s attention like nothing else. He smiled eagerly, “Yes.”

“I want you to clean up your room however you like it, move the bed closer to the window, clean the fireplace, whatever pleases you. If you should want to clear the foyer then that would be additional and appreciated, though it is not necessary,” he turned to Isabela finding three sovereigns in his pocket (being friends with Hawke did have it’s advantages however insufferable the warrior could sometimes be) and handed them to her, “Isabela will take you shopping for new clothes. Buy what you like but remember that Kirkwall is different from Tevinter. And lastly should you remember to go to the bathroom when you need it I shall reward you,” he waited till the man nodded a third time in understanding, “your reward shall be sleeping at the foot of my bed if it pleases you.”

Anders looked a different man; broad, needy smile as he agreed to these terms, “Yes, of course. I shall fulfill your wishes, Fenris.”

“Good,” he was still waking up and found himself caught in a yawn’s embrace, “Isabela I hope this is compliable with you.”

She rolled her shoulders, “Oh it sounds fine, darling, hopefully this covers our debt from last week then?” Fenris begrudgingly nodded, she technically owed more than what this task would be to her but it was what was needed, “And of course as long as Hawke doesn’t mind.”

Hawke was wolfish once more, “Only if I get to babysit him tomorrow.”

Anders found himself grinning with pride as Hawke winked towards him on the way out. It had been reminiscent of how his master would behave, a secret interaction just between them. The members of Hawke’s hunting party filed out of the room, including Fenris who passed one last glance to Anders before leaving him to Isabela’s keeping.

The woman was now alone with the man and she tried to be open, “Do you prefer the name Anders?”

“Yes, Madama, it is how I have always been called.”

She giggled lightly, “Alright sit down… we need to talk about how you address people,” she helped him move some of the dry sheets over top of the wet patch noting in her head they would have to deal with that soon before it got worse, “Darling, do you know what city you’re in?”

“Master was on his way to Antiva.”

“And Antiva is a lovely place, but that was not my question,” she pulled a chair in front of him, reaching his level and hoping to put him at ease - luckily for her case Anders had never really dealt with females in the Imperium, being set aside for men early on, so in his head she had already been marked as a safe individual, “It doesn’t matter too much, but you’re in Kirkwall, ‘City of Chains’, a Free Marcher city. Here there are no slaves.”

“No slaves?” He repeated back with the slightest hint of a question at the end.

She nodded, “That’s right. There are only people who work for money,” she showed Anders the coins in her hand, “Fenris has paid you if you would like to work for him - that means you are not a slave.”

His eyes narrowed as he tried to comprehend.

Isabela understood though, as much as she prided herself on moral ambiguity she had a soft spot for people who were wrongfully controlled by others - a personal history determined this but it was one she felt she had no reason to share with anyone. The result remained that she, herself, loved freedom and couldn’t imagine herself in a situation where she never sought it. 

The woman continued, running a hand through her hair as she spoke, “In Kirkwall, you refer to people by their names. I am Isabela, not Madama. The man with the beard is Hawke,” she noticed the way Anders looked up slightly at the mention and she subsequently sucked the inside of her cheek at his naivety, “you should stay away from him for now, darling, he’s not ready for you. You know Fenris, of course, and the dwarf goes by Varric. The others you’ll learn in time but you just need to remember not to call people Master and Madama - it makes the vanillas uncomfortable.”

He didn’t understand the joke but he continued to focus on her. It was a focus she had never witnessed before, he bore into her, focusing on the way her lips moved, trying to catch any change in emotion. What she couldn’t understand was why anyone would force someone to pay that much attention. That his first and foremost role was to find the best way to understand and please others seemed unnecessarily brutal.

She tried to remain her usual self regardless of however put off she truly was, “So… now the day is yours. Would you like to clean? We should probably take care of those sheets, or I can take you to breakfast… and, darling,” she reached up around his neck where the collar still flimsily stuck to him, ready to slide off, “we should take this off today.”

Anders bit his lip, it was the only reaction he made that showed someone he was apprehensive. His hands instinctively went for the collar and the words that left his mouth surprised even him, “I’m scared.”

Isabela sat back, removing her hands and giving him as much time as he needed, “There’s nothing to be afraid of. This is not the Imperium and we will not let anything happen to you.”

He swallowed hard, feeling emotions get the better of him. Usually he was praised for showing emotion, desire in sex, fear in punishment, relishing in praise… but this was different. He wasn’t supposed to show that he was sad. His nose burned as he felt it moisten “They’ll know I took it off.”

“Who’s they?” Isabela asked this gently. She wasn’t sure if he even knew who “they” were or if this was something his master invented to keep him obedient.

“All of them…” he was struggling to remain composed now, “if any of the magisters find out, then everyone will be punished. All the other slaves, all of master’s pets. They’ll think I disobeyed him!”

Her arms instinctively reached for his, grabbing his shoulders carefully to calm him, “Anders, I promise that will not happen. I promise that those slaves will not be hurt,” she was lying through her teeth but it seemed to be calming him, “You are free… no master, no other slaves to worry about… just yourself. Worry only about Anders.”

It was the smallest she had ever heard the word come out, “Okay.”

“Come,” she reached out to him, “Let’s clean your sheets and find something to eat… then, darling, we’ll go shopping!”

Anders took her hand without a blink in his eye. His collar still sat triumphantly on his frame but Isabela figured it would be off before they moved on. To some degree he looked at her like a lost child, which was an off-putting analogy in her head. She was not one for kids (especially ones that looked to her for leadership) but there was something endearing about Anders. 

She helped him strip the sheets of the bed and together they walked to Fenris’ all-but-forgotten kitchen. Something scattered out of the way as they made their presence known. Isabela sighed as she took in the sight of Fenris’ “home” knowing Anders would have his work cut out for him. She opened several of the shelves, finding them either empty or… revolting with spoiled contents, but the bottle she was looking for was sitting there. She turned to where the pump still stood knowing it was a crapshoot to see whether or not it would work. Anders watched with interest as water began to fill a tub and Isabela drizzled vinegar on his sheets.

“They don’t have pumps in Tevinter?” Isabela looked up at the wide-eyed man.

His lips curled slightly, “No, we do. I am just surprised to see a similar system here. Master’s house was grand.”

Anders could list every detail of his home. When you first walked in there was an atrium, dwarven built with its large pool of water, he had always wanted to but never had the chance to stick a finger in it. The peristylium that followed was where Master would take his guests in the warmer months. He would be sat under one of the large Cypress that Master once told him he had planted as a child. From there guests could admire him, make their thirsts for desire known and be granted his pleasure. That house was familiar, if he just closed his eyes he might be able to pretend he was actually in its wake. 

“What are you thinking of, Anders?”

Isabela looked up at the pensive man, he truly looked out of place in Kirkwall - but perhaps he seemed out of place in Tevinter as well. He shook off her question with a small smile as he knelt to help the woman put the sheets in water. Isabela rubbed the stain violently as Anders tried to wring it out.

“So,” she grunted slightly as she fought with the mark, luckily for him she had had many bouts with random and unexplainable stains on clothes and bedding, “what’s the story behind you not holding your waters anyways? Just,” she paused again as she bore into another area, “seems like an odd thing to struggle with.”

He tilted his head just slightly as he had done when addressed before, “Master always took care of me, I always trusted him to know what was right.”

“But,” and she shook her head at the soaking cloth, “wouldn’t you know your body best?”

Anders snorted, “Why would I know my body best? I am a slave.”

Isabela tried biting her tongue but found she couldn’t let it go, “You’re also a human, Anders, and no human should be controlled on that level.”

The man simply shook it off and they waited in silence for a few minutes, letting the water and vinegar do its job. Isabela stood and nudged Anders to help her stretch out the fabric, together they moved back to the main banister of the estate and hung the bedding over it - giving it air and time to dry out.

“Really Fenris should be paying me instead,” she huffed to herself, she looked up after the job was done, Anders was never more than a few feet away, “Well he sort of is, I suppose, he did give me the money. So, let’s go see what Hightown has to offer us!”


	4. A Most Domestic Day

Anders nodded - ever agreeable. Isabela led him back into his guestroom and sat herself on the unmade bed, “What are you going to wear today?” 

He made his way over to his clothes, “Forgive me for saying but it feels so strange to dress myself.”

“Take your time, darling, I’m actually glad you got me out of work today - you’re much better company than that lot hiking up the hills,” she snickered to herself as she fell back onto his pillows.

She could hear Anders rustling the fabric, Isabela wouldn’t lie, when she helped him pick out what to wear yesterday she was quite jealous by his selection. Her wardrobe was similar, low cut tops, hitched up skirts, corsets - shopping with Anders would be fun. Silence in the room signaled it was time for her to sit up but what she caught of the man was… mystifying.

He stood there, hair unwrapped from his messed ponytail and falling down with just a hint of wave to his shoulders where it tapped against his expansive gold collar. Anders was wrapped in a lace bandeau top where two nubs of flesh could easily be made out as their gold accessories peaked through, she herself had never bothered to get the piercings, figuring taking them out would be a pain, but Anders seemed to be putting up with it just as well. Her eyes finally trailed down to his waist where the skirt sitting there threatened to lower, it only had two sheer panels draping from the band - one in the front and one in the back.

Anders waited for praise, approval, anything that Isabela could give him. He straightened his shoulders so that the gold jewelry adorning his body was shown. Isabela cursed at herself, wanting so bad to claim the man for herself, the way he flaunted himself was charming, intriguing. She thought to the world outside of Fenris’ manor - wondering how the nobles of Hightown would react to a pleasure slave dancing in front of their faces.

She grinned mischievously, “Anders you look exquisite, darling,” she stood, motioning to his neck, “but the, uh, collar there?”

It was not praise, she did not approve, he tried to justify removing it in his head. Would Isabela’s words hold true? He was nervous, fingers shaking as they touched the design. Something inside of him demanded he trust Isabela, she was his leader, his protector… she might not be his master by definition but she was there to guide him. She wouldn’t be wrong, and carefully he picked up the heavy gold and laid it carefully next to his box.

He hoped he wouldn’t displease, but when he looked back to Isabela she was her regular, smiling self, “Wonderful, Anders, I’m so proud,” the praise made it worth the worry, “Let’s go get something to eat, then, celebrate you being a free man.”

They exited the house just like that, locking Fenris’ door with Isabela’s finesse. Anders had rarely felt a woman’s touch but he wouldn’t deny that it felt nice as she clasped her hands around his arm. Isabela was soft, friendly, warm - so often men were cold, their calloused hands rough. It was surprising, from his eyes, to see Hightown in the day, the city was much friendlier when the sun was allowed to lighten up its features and it even had a subtle air of regality to it.

Well dressed men and women stopped in their tracks, ignoring their ever-urgent matters, as the perplexing duo left the quartered noble district of large, sprawling manors. Anders tried to catch every detail he could of the world surrounding him, this was a trick he had learned once his master started bringing him to parties: if you could pick up on who was around you, what their intentions were, how they seemed to form an opinion about you, and also connected that to the location then there were less chance for surprises later in the evening.

His eyes scanned the various homes of the pampered, green vines snaked up the old and ornate walls. In so many ways it was like Tevinter but unlike. Isabela pressed into him and they turned, several dwarven merchants passed by and Anders’ eyes lit up.

“You must’ve seen a dwarf before,” Isabela teased.

Anders nodded, watching the group head for several boxes, “Of course, Master had many dwarven friends. They have always interested me.”

“Interested you?” Isabela tried to hold in a laugh, “They’re just people, sweet-thing… do you have a secret dwarf fetish we haven’t picked up on?”

It had confused the man so Isabela backed off, not without smiling to herself, however. Anders switched his attention back to the woman guiding him around the winding streets, admiring her leadership - he liked people like her, they didn’t expect him to know everything, gave him time but ultimately were able to decide for him if he took to long. People like Isabela were easy to submit to.

“And here we are,” Isabela gestured to the small, but quaint tavern near the edge of the market. It was part indoor, part open air - very Orlesian of them. A kiosk sat outside since the weather had been nice in Kirkwall for the past week. Isabela watched the waiter’s frightened appearance as her and the half-dressed wonder walked up to his station, “My good man we require a table for two.”

He shook his head, “I told Lusine that she could not send her girls here,” he swallowed loudly as Isabela’s brows lowered, “This is an upstanding establishment and we can not serve whores.”

Isabela smiled - though that was not characteristic of her current mood, she moved closer to him, untangling herself from Anders, “Let me tell you something,” her voice was low, menacing, “You are going to let me and my friend here into your pathetic restaurant or,” a knife had found a way to his throat, “there will be trouble.”

“Y-yes…! Yes of course,” he shook as he grabbed two of the parchment menus he kept to his side, “We have a table just for you… s-sorry for the misunderstanding, madam.”

Anders merely looked to Isabela, the woman grinned with a chuckle as she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the restaurant. They followed behind the waiter, shocking the various guests as they walked past. Their eyes didn’t know which scandal was worse - the pirate or the crossdresser. Both seemed one hundred percent in their element, however, as they sat outside in a seat far from other patrons. They were one of the same in many ways, being the object of attention was a prime role, not a place to be shy of.

The table was certainly not one you’d give the Champion but at least they’d be served. A woman appeared this time, a sheepish little elf, she seemed to be truly hating her coworker for punishing her with these two. She attempted a smile but almost couldn’t keep her eyes in a proper place; glances to Isabela’s nearly exposed breasts and the large rings on Ander’s chest left the elf feeling particularly flustered.

Isabela raised her chin smugly, “Darling, if you don’t mind my friend and I would like to be serviced sometime today, please.”

“S-serviced?”

That caught a slight laugh from Isabela, “Yes, serviced… as in given food and drink.”

“O-oh,” she stuttered, trying to calm herself, “What will it be m’lady?”

“I think I’ll have… oh, who cares it’s Fenris’ money,” she nodded to Anders who only nodded back because it seemed the socially acceptable thing to do, “just bring us a whole bottle of your finest wine.”

“Our finest bottle is a Chateau Ganganar 8:04 Steel, it is priced at one hundred and fifty four sovereigns.”

Isabela pursed her lips, pretending to think, “You know… on careful reconsideration I think me and my friend here will just have the cheapest wine you can find, that’s what I meant when I said finest actually, thank you, darling.”

The elf tried to stop herself from rolling her eyes because of course they were poor. It wasn’t that she hated the poor, it was that she knew they probably weren’t going to tip well. She left with a slight bow as she went back into the main restaurant. 

It may have been punishment to be sent out here, cast aside like common riff-raff so as to not upset the elites, but the view was gorgeous. They overlooked the ocean where several mountain ranges could be made out along its edges, youthening storm clouds in their path - Isabela grinned, glad to be drinking wine with a delightful young man instead of dirtying her boots. 

She motioned to the menu, “So what do you think you’re going to get?”

He timidly looked from the menu to her before making up his mind to speak, “I am sorry, M-Isabela,” he was getting better at correcting himself, “I can not read.”

“Oh,” she smacked herself in the forehead for that one, “No, darling that’s my fault for forgetting, of course…” she pointed to several words on her menu, “they have eggs, fruit platters, bread, strudels, various pastries, fish - any of that sound good?”

Anders could only meekly smile, “I have no preference, whatever you feel is best to feed me.”

It was an easy out, she thought, but this was also only Anders’ second day of being free. And besides, Fenris was the one technically tasked with training Anders, not her, “Alright, then,” the elf came back with two cheap glasses and the wine, “We’ll have a loaf of bread, some of the mashberry jam and a fruit platter.”

“I assume this is all to share,” you are below me she meant to say.

Isabela didn’t even bother to glance up as she pawed at the wine, “Yes, on your way now.”

Being with Anders wasn’t always silence but if you weren’t the one to start a conversation he wouldn’t say anything. Isabela caught him staring out to the water below them - there was a warm breeze and it reminded her too much of Rivain. His eyes were focused on something, probably not in the distance, they all had moments like these… asking questions of what ifs, or how.

“I’m glad you took your collar off, you look nice not being weighed down like that.”

He acknowledged the compliment but didn’t seem to be fawning under it like the others. It seemed that he had potential to be this strange and unreadable human being but at the same time so predictable you could almost write out his reply before he had time to think it. Overall it was a fascinating undertaking. 

Isabela breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of the water once more as the air brushed past them. If she could study Anders the entire day she might. It was expected she would eventually lose interest but for now he was a puzzle - something she had to break open and divulge the secrets of. She watched as his eyes remained casted to the Gallows, wondering only how both their lives might have changed if he had been cargo she came across; if he hadn’t been taken in by Fenris, if he was a generic slave.

Usually she tried not to dwell on such things, “Scary tower isn’t it?”

Anders moved but did not look away, “It… reminds me of Tevinter.”

Isabela grinned harshly, “Well, you’re not wrong. It was built by slaves of the Imperium, back when it stretched all across Thedas,” she shrugged, “I don’t know all the history but now it’s where they house mages.”

“Mages,” he resettled himself in his chair, facing her, “There are mages here, Isabela?”

She nodded, sending him a silent look to stay quiet as their waitress returned, bringing out the items they had ordered. Isabela remained silent still as she went away, making up a plate for Anders that consisted of several slices of bread and a variety of the fruit. It was placed in front of him along with a knife and a fresh glass of wine.

After a long pause of silence and an assurance that there were now no interested ears she continued, “There are mages here, it’s true… but you see it’s not like the Imperium. People don’t like mages outside of Tevinter.”

“Permit me to ask why?” He asked as he spread the jam onto the bread with his fingers - Isabela didn’t know what to make of the table manners when there was a knife in front of Anders but figured it was a slave’s lot.

“You’re asking the wrong person, darling, but I think it’s to do with dreams. Mages can walk in their dreams and demons seek them out. It’s a lot of chantry nonsense too,” she waved off the conversation as she bit into her own breakfast.

They sat together and ate peacefully, occasionally bringing up minor talking points. Comparing the weather of two countries, the clothes, the mannerisms. Apparently silverware usage was not common in Tevinter, many opting to have their slaves feed them grapes and cheeses. It was easy, nonconfrontational talking.

Isabela had deposited twenty silver for the meal - a bit pricey but worth it as this would be Anders’ first real meal in Kirkwall. As she stood to leave there began a commotion behind her. The entire restaurant turned and watched in earnest as one of the server girls burnt herself on one of the hot dishes.

Glass fell and shattered as she reacted loudly, her hand curling as nerves died within.

The pirate shrugged and was ready to offer a witty comment to Anders but saw the man’s hands glowing with energy. Her eyes grew wide, “Anders!” She tried to remain calm but feared what might happen if anyone saw him, “Anders, stop that.”

Anders immediately looked up, fear pounding into his chest - what had he been doing? She signaled to his hands and his eyes grew wide: the magic was running on instinct. He shook his head, panicking, it was true he felt urges to heal, if a slave ever injured him or herself Anders felt compelled to help but was only ever allowed to do so if his master allowed it.

“The collar,” he choked, jaw clenching, “it stops this…”

He tried to steady his breathing - working himself into hysterics wouldn’t help anything. Anders shut his eyes trying to remember what his master had taught him. 

“Feel the magic inside of you Anders,” a soft hand  
to a trembling cheek, “it flows in you and out of you…  
seeps into your hands,” now there were warm hands  
on top of cold ones, “I am going to order you to stop it,”  
a pause, waiting for reassurance, “If you want to be a  
good slave you will… you are going to gather that energy  
in your palms and clench it shut,” his forehead now rested  
against Anders’, “Now, I want you to be a good slave and  
stop your magic.”

After a gasp Anders felt the energy dissipate, looking anxiously around the tavern. No one was watching, everyone had gone back to their meals. His hands were angry with want but he had managed to control the urge. Isabela’s face shone in worry but Anders stood, nodding, trying to signal to her that all was well and he was ready to move on. She agreed to move on but not before making a mental note of getting him in touch with Merrill, there were likely no Circle Towers in Tevinter to teach young slaves how to control their magic.

He felt better, relieved even. The stress of the past few hours of his life washed away with one single moment relived with his master. Isabela accepted this as good enough and continued on with whatever she had planned for their day… but Anders couldn’t seem to focus now. Everywhere he looked his master waited, every word he had uttered, every order he had given, they followed Anders even as he went about the simplest of tasks.

But it did make life somewhat easier. When asked what he wanted to wear he only had to imagine his master there - guiding hand, strong words. He only had to picture the man wrapping his chain around his wrist, steering him towards the right path. Anders ended up with a new belted jacket, several low cut tunics, a pair of trousers Isabela insisted on and two long, more conservative skirts.

He had no opinion, only his master did. Anders starred in the mirror before him as Isabela pulled him out of a lady’s dress that could have passed as decorative robes, he liked how trimly it fit him, though it was much too loose in the chest. His body was exposed now, idly he played with one of the golden rings he had put through today. Master loved them, sometimes he would pull at the rings, waiting for Anders to cry out.

“Do you like it when I pull on this, make you hurt,” perfect smile, always  
a perfect smile, “I love watching your face,” he strung something between  
the two rings, more gold chain, “Anders I want you to scream good for me  
tonight,” he pulled down harshly once they were settled, Anders’ body  
would always move down to compensate, the chains threatening to rip his hardened  
nipples clear off, “Oh, you love this… you love it so much.  
Tell me you love it Anders.”

“I love it,” he whispered as he ghosted his hand over top of them now, blush rising to his cheeks at the thought. He caught Isabela watching him and didn’t mind, she was his current master… he knew she would not order him to do anything he didn’t wish but there wasn’t any other word that fit her role in his life at this moment. She cared for him, fed him, talked to him, the only word for a person who would do such things was master.

“It’s Fenris’ lucky day, he has sixty-four silvers left over from your shopping spree,” she looked upwards, thoughtfully, “Maybe I won’t tell him…”

Anders didn’t care if she lied or not he merely followed, admiring her all the more. It was now darker in Hightown, not late but well past four. The streets didn’t get any easier to decipher as Isabela escorted him through the houses, she knew it well enough though. She moved like no one Anders knew, but it was true anyone Anders truly watched moved differently.

Her hips swayed, daggers at her back sometimes clinking together; it was a demanding, confident walk, as if she could swindle anyone who dared her. Fenris moved deliberately, it was like Master’s but he wouldn’t dare tell the elf that. They landed differently, though. Master would land hard on the foot, never wavering, whereas Fenris treaded more carefully. These simplistic thoughts were what most slaves found themselves pondering on as they moved to the next moment of their lives.

“Cleaning time,” Isabela sighed as she opened the door to the mansion.

Anders almost bit his tongue but let himself say it anyways, “This is not your job, Isabela. I would like to try and clean without help if it is okay?”

She laughed, “Oh sweet darling, you are fantastic. Well, I can’t deny your request but I will help you get started how’s that? Then I promise to keep you company at least until Fenris returns.”

“Thank you,” he began to bow but Isabela held him upright.

“No need for that silliness,” she chided playfully, “now let’s see what we can find.”

They found an old bucket, several rejected rags and cleaning soap. Anders helped slosh around the soap in the water as he had seen many house slaves do before, he never knew one day he’d be reduced to their rank. Isabela guided him back to his room where she opened the window to let new air in.

He looked at the dirtied floor around him and to the fireplace. Choosing the hardest task first he sat in front of the marble stone, where Isabela stood above him waiting to instruct if he needed. The rag was used as he began, scrubbing at the soot weakly.

“Oh come now, Anders,” Isabela tsked, “You need to throw some muscle into it… really work the rag in there.”

Anders tried to take the advice, now changing his technique. It felt wrong to be working in this manner, using his hands once praised as being delicate now in a primitive and brutish way. Master would always demand his hands to be soft - that is why so often the other slaves attended to him and he rarely ended up touching himself. Muco always insulted him for it. He was one of master’s few human slaves (there were seven in total and though Anders had what some considered the highest ranking job, each human in the house seemed to have more charge over the elven slaves than any elf was ever likely to be given).

“I can’t believe I have to dress you like you’re your own magister,”  
spit, always caught in the eye, “useless whore,” sometimes Anders  
gave a response, sometimes he remained unmoved, “you are nothing  
but a hole to him and yet you act like you’re so much better than us,”  
his voice was grating - Anders hated it, “I can’t wait for the day he  
finally snaps at you and hits your precious skin… one mark,”  
his words would always grow dark with malice, “one mark and  
you’re not worth anything.”

He stared at his fingers, black soot now caking the nail. It was tiring work, and while he would have liked to have prided himself on strong stamina such as it was he was simply not developed for mundane tasks like these. Still, he argued with himself, he would do the work without complaint. This was who he was, this was what was expected. He was a slave and this is what slaves did even if it was not serving in the way he thought he was best suited for.

The floor tiles came next and soon even they shined with a new life. He dusted with the guidance of Isabela, sniffling as large wafts of reject sifted into the air, then, later still, moving to sweep corners of webs and garbage into a tray Isabela graciously held his way. Once he had cleared the wardrobe of intruders she offered to put his new outfits away all the while going on about some of her exotic exploits.

“May I ask a question, Isabela?” They had moved outwards, now onto the foyer where Anders swept what he could of the muck that stuck to the rest of the floor like glue.

The woman looked up as she organized tomes, really she was looking for something naughty that she could blackmail Fenris with but it was mostly dark magic books that the elf likely had no interest in, “Sure, but if you’re asking what happened to Captain Reggalio, though, I can’t quite say.”

“No,” he smiled as he dropped to his knees to soap the tiles, “It’s about your… ship,” he had only seen one in his lifetime when Master brought him to the docks on business - they were to attend a party after the short transaction was handled, but Anders had been in awe, the way the wood curved, how the water lapped onto it, he remembered the faces that peeked out from small port holes on the side probably more slaves for transport, “What’s it like to be on the water?”

She threw her head back as if the question was orgasmic, black hair twisting onto the tiles with life of its own, “It is the most amazing experience you will ever have… it’s like having all the freedom in the world, the water around you is yours. You tell it where you want to go, you battle it when it gets feisty and you conquer all that comes past,” she stacked the books up neatly.

“But it is just water?”

She came back into the room after depositing the books on another shelf, now setting to realign a fallen painting, she tutted, “It’s not just water, Anders, it’s a whole separate world. There are no kingdoms, no borders,” she shrugged, “Well, none that I follow anyways. When I’m on the water I can go anywhere I want and see anything I care to and if someone challenges me, well, then all the more fun.”

Anders plucked several mushrooms from their nesting and deposited them in the filling trash bin, he hadn’t heard of any place having mushrooms in the home before, “All your stories… it sounds like there is always a fight for the waters.”

“Well, that’s true,” she nodded as she sat on the steps, watching Anders hurry about and clean, “many fight for the right to patrol certain areas and steal. I always thought that was boring, if I wanted to steal from Antivan ships who were coming to and from then what did I care if so-and-so decided ten years ago that that water was his?”

It seemed the man was nodding because he understood, “Why did you steal?”

“Because I wanted new things,” their eyes met a moment before Anders knelt back down to the ground, “Money is the way Thedas works.”

He couldn’t understand, he was sure he would be devastated had Isabela come to steal any of his possessions. There were others who stole, it was not a new concept to Anders. The slaves who did, however, often lost limbs or were thrown aside to be sold for magic purposes. Stealing was something slaves weren’t supposed to do… they should be happy with what kindness had already been given to them and the fact remained that to steal from your own master was the biggest slap in the face one could bestow.

“Um, Isabela,” speaking of the water so fondly for the past hour had made the pressure in Anders’ loins known, “I require…”

“Oh, your little bathroom issue,” she stood, hurrying over to him as if he was some sort of child who needed attention right that minute - but perhaps rightly so, he didn’t have the best track record, “Come on, we’ll use the pot.”

He wasn’t sure how to tell her he needed someone else’s help… or if it would even work. It was always males who helped. She stood him in front of the pot and without another word left just like that. Anders was surprised, clamping down on his mouth as he felt the urge to yell after her. 

After a few minutes sweat began to trickle on his brow, nerves being the main culprit. His skirt was adjusted so he had free reign with his member but none of it was working. The pressure was slowly working its way up from hindrance to need. He let out a shivering breath as the pot stared back at him. Closing his eyes he tried to picture it, tried to picture the man he needed to get him through this.

“Oh my sweet slave,” that hand tight on his cock, guiding  
it towards the pot. Whispers hot on his neck, promises  
lingering, “Sweet slave, you need me, you need me to  
help you with this…” The need to release would build, “Oh,  
please beg for me,” a stroke down his length, “beg me to let  
you go,” his voice would lower, always husky, always strong,  
“If you have an accident, my pet, there will be an unpleasant  
price to pay,” usually he alluded to the metal belt for a week or a  
flogging, he knew this wouldn’t matter though since sometimes  
Master never gave him a choice and he had to accept punishment  
anyways, “So please, beg, bid me.”

“Please, Master,” he would choke it out with such desperation,  
tears likely brewing or streaming, “Your slave needs… needs  
relief… please, please.”

“Beautiful, my pet, beautiful,” firm hand once more on his  
member, “Please release yourself.”

Anders was going without any hesitation at this point, whether there was a hand on him or not the act of doing such was so ingrained it came as natural as breathing. He moaned, still somewhat lulled into action by memory. Fenris likely wouldn’t approve, Anders wasn’t sure why his mind jumped to the elf. Because he had given you orders, his mind likely reasoned. And it was true as he finished his act, picturing Master’s supervision, there was some part of him that thought of Fenris as well, pictured the handsome elf directing and commanding him.

He finished, sighing as his senses returned, Isabela would likely not come to fetch him but he paused as he ran through what to do. Anders figured he was expected to find his way back to the foyer, return to his work. The rooms in the house were all mostly tattered but with the pace he was going at it he estimated that it wouldn’t take more than a week, week and a half at most, to have the place looking nice - to have the place looking like a master’s home.


	5. The Bath

Several faces turned to him as he reentered the room. Isabela met him first, “Oh, you were having fun back there weren’t you… the delicious noises you make.”

“What,” Fenris’ mouth was opened, surprised and slightly horrified by the revealed sight of Anders, “What is he wearing, Isabela?”

“Oh,” she moved closer and ran her hand across the man’s chest, the rings pulling across the lace temptingly, “You don’t like it?”

“It’s…” he couldn’t seem to formulate words, Anders’ slender hips were fighting to hold the waist-band of his skirt - one might say they were losing the battle, “H-he did not wear this in public I assume?”

Isabela pretended to think, bringing a finger up to her chin, “Um, oh he did,” she bobbed her head smugly, “They loved it out there.”

Hawke nodded, stretching his back with a grin, “I can see why… he should give us a little twirl so we can see how that skirt fli--”

Aveline had him knocked in the stomach, even if it didn’t hurt the warrior it still sucked the air out of him, “That’s enough out of you.”

Eyes were now on Fenris, expecting him to know how to best continue the exchange of conversation. He collected himself, promising to explain to Anders in the morning why his dress was inappropriate and had to change, “I appreciate your help today, Isabela,” Fenris turned attention to the woman, “I expect Anders was no trouble for you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all darling - he is delightful.”

“This place is so clean,” Hawke interrupted, as he usually did when the conversation wasn’t wholly focused on him, “Oh no! They got rid of your mushroom farm,” Hawke, still caked in blood, chortled as he thought of comments to make about the state of Fenris’ home, “The little blue one was my favorite, I always made sure not to step on them when I visited.”

“What will you do without your dark and dreary hunting grounds, Broody?” Varric nudged with a grin of his own.

Fenris huffed as jokes were made at his expense, but he chose not to comment, returning once more to Isabela, “His collar is off?”

Isabela winked, “Told you I’ve had sex with a king,” Hawke was ready to ask for more detail about her statement regarding her ability to reason with others, but she continued before he got the chance to speak, “And you should reward this man, Fenris. He did everything you asked for and more.”

Anders felt a heat flower on his cheeks, the woman was speaking for him - vouching for his ability and actions. He had never had such a person before, if another slave was asked to speak of Anders’ performance they would almost always speak poorly, that’s how he learned to do better. But to have someone speak of it well in this new land was jarring if not encouraging, even if he didn’t do everything correctly he was still treated like… like… he didn’t have the word to describe it.

He saw the corners of Fenris’ mouth curve, it was an almost smile and Anders could no longer contain himself at the praise - that almost smile was everything to Anders, “Yes, you will be rewarded today, Anders.”

Surely his face must have been seven shades of red by this point, and it didn’t help that his mouth was twitching like a simple-minded’s, trying not to bring itself up into a large smile. He usually never got this excited but with the elf proud of him he felt a new wave of success course over him. Perhaps this new land wasn’t as horrible as he thought.

“You know,” Hawke set his arm around Fenris’ shoulders, “I can always reward him.”

Fenris grunted, his left shoulder still hurting from battle, as he shook Hawke’s arm off and tried to remain as polite as he could, “It won’t be necessary.”

There was little more to say, a few simple questions that didn’t concen Anders (meeting times at the Hanged Man, work to be done tomorrow, a get-together at Hawke’s house in four day’s time). Fenris stood in his newly cleaned foyer, looking around at the home as if it was new - the colors underneath the dirt were surprising. His companions slowly filed out, the last of which Isabela. She stood a minute’s length longer to whisper something to Fenris and then left with a quick peck to the cheek.

Anders had held his tongue while there were others in the room but now he cautiously stepped forward, not sure how his request would be taken. He knew by now that Fenris was usually patient with him and he was sure that nothing could go wrong by asking, “Fenirs… might I,” his hands lit tentatively, “heal your --”

“I do not want your magic,” he could see the shock in Anders’ face as he spat this and surprisingly (even to himself) backed off slowly, “I… that was inappropriate of me, I apologize,” clearly the look on Anders’ face still warranted an explanation, “It’s not your fault but I do not trust magic.”

For some twisted reason even Anders’ could not explain he felt like crying - one minute he was on top of the world with praise but now he felt as if he had failed and betrayed Fenris in every way. It was a whirlwind of emotion that he was not equipped to handle, “I only want to serve you.”

Fenris reworked the words, “I know you only want to help but,” his eyes grew wide as he realized he had never told Anders of his past… never explained that he had been a slave too, perhaps there could have been clues for anyone else of Tevinter but nothing so far that Anders would recognize as a likened history to his own chains. He wasn’t about to tell him, though, not when it seemed progress had been made with this dynamic, “Come, Anders,” he gestured to the stairs and they moved together, “You look filthy and I am drenched in spider entrails. We can clean off.”

Anders nodded as they climbed the stairs - anywhere outside of Tevinter bathing together might raise several flags but the public bathhouses littered throughout the country were customary, bathing together was an activity shared with magisters, workers, certain slaves and even the archon himself. Both Anders and Fenris knew them well. They entered the room which was not nearly as dirty as the rest of the house, perhaps the elf had done some cleaning of his own at one point.

He worked on getting the wood lit so that it might heat the bricks above it. Fenris eventually got a light and watched the heat rise, in Tevinter this system was never used. Slaves kept the baths heated around the clock, mindlessly throwing kindling onto fires beneath the pools of water and if it was still too cold any magister taking their time to relax could heat it himself. Fenris worked on removing his shirt as water started pumping into the large, stone bath basin.

On his own Anders followed suit. Slowly he stripped off the skirt, he didn’t want the fabric to catch. Fenris moved to place his armor on the table by the bath, but something inside of him paused… a little voice convinced him to turn, to look at the nearly naked man to his right. There was a large lump he had found hard to swallow in his throat and he cursed the magister who had owned Anders: cursed him for having of all things a pleasure slave, someone made to be admired like this.

But to look was not to touch, he wasn’t taking advantage he was merely surveying the scene, though that scene let him take in an eyefull. It seemed a joke from the universe that the room was so poorly lit but it was still easy to make out that ashen skin so rare in Tevinter. How much did Anders stand out when he walked through Hightown today? How many heads turned to ogle and admire as Fenris had?

His long fingers lifted the lace bandeau from the bottom up, pulling it over his head. The rings catching on the fabric and falling back gently against his skin. Fenris hadn’t noticed his own nails digging into his palm, this wasn’t right. Hurriedly he began removing the rest of his clothes, unlacing the leggings, dragging them down his skin. He was sore from the physical activity of the day but the burn he felt as he bent was deserved he figured.

The fire bounced through the room as Fenris moved to turn off the water, changing his attention to the burning bricks. He took the metal claw next to them and began dropping them into the water - heat sizzling and traveling through the room as steam. The sound was relaxing, a hiss of water on the ears. After the last brick was deposited Fenris turned to Anders trying to keep his eyes focused above the waist.

There was a silent agreement to enter the warmed water, unconsciously or not Fenris bid Anders go first. His eyes betrayed him as he ate in another site of the man, this time from the back down. Fenris felt his mouth go dry, this time reeling with a shot directly to his groin as Anders’ ass taunted him but only a touch away.

He shut his eyes, if he could hit himself without a questioning look from Anders he would.

Anders sat on the seat at one end of the stone basin, water up to his upper chest, while Fenris occupied the other, silence pushed heavily on the room except for the occasional whispers of the fire. The elf reached for the soap to his right but found himself regretting inviting Anders to a bath in every sense. There he sat, gorgeous, mocking everything Fenris shouldn’t feel. 

The fire hit his striking features and exaggerated them as color filled in what sun would not. His skin looked so supple, so soft, his eyes alone could lull a babe to sleep as they delicately observed you as if you were the best of friends (and most thorough of lovers). Fenris wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn Anders’ mouth ghosted with remnants of a smile.

“May I ask you a question?”

Fenris, surprised by not only sound now infiltrating a silent room but also the man himself speaking without asking, squeezed the soap in his hand and couldn’t stop it from slipping out and into the basin. He attempted to regain control, “Yes, you may,” he hoped it sounded casual enough as he set his foot out on the task of retrieving the soap.

The bottom of the tub was smoothed stone but it still felt a little coarse as he swept around it for the lathering agent. Anders remained unphased, his face even more entrancing in the crying fire, “If it is not too invasive I would like to know more about your… tattoos.”

“Why?” Fenris sputtered, his task losing attention to the clearly more important objective of Anders’ face.

He smiled slightly, Fenris suddenly felt the bath was too hot, “They look beautiful.”

Noble women were called beautiful. Expensive paintings were called beautiful. Anders had been called beautiful. Fenris was not beautiful.

The elf paused, wholly stupefied but also consumed by the word, expecting Anders to have misspoke. Perhaps it was his anxiety (or another, more primal part of him) but he could have sworn Anders had leaned in some. The man seemed so close, the tips of his long hair were swimming in the water as Fenris watched.

Out of need to focus on something, anything, he swept his foot once more still needing that damn bar of soap. His foot rubbed against something, a bolt of silk: Anders’ leg. Anders smiled wider now, eyes now needy with… with…

“Is the soap by your foot?” He snapped, “I’ve been looking for it for the past five minutes because you’re filthy, covered in… in filth,” nice one, Fenris, “And we really need to get clean and go to bed.”

“Together,” it was a statement, no question about it, a statement that made Fenris’ hair stand up on ends.

“No,” he shook his head quickly, “No, not at all,” his heart was beating at an unprecedented rate.

Then Anders frowned, his face seemed the very image of disappointment - disappointment directed completely at Fenris. It made the elf heave, how could a random man have such effect over his emotion? Anders reached down and Fenris’ eyes grew, back on high alert, “I thought I was to be rewarded today.”

Fenris let out a sigh. Shit. He had made a promise, “Well,” he was backpedaling already, this damn human forcing him to stumble around conversations like a fool, “Yes, I suppose that was the deal… the foot of my bed. Away from me.”

A slight grin returned but it was not as enthusiastic as the last. Fenris moved backwards, almost like a cat anticipating an encounter, horrified by Anders’ hand moving in the murky water towards him. He was ready to yell back, turn the man away in some way so that he might be at peace once more without some handsome, willing, pleasurable… man… tempting him.

“The soap,” he offered as he brought his hand above water.

Fenris shut his eyes. What was he doing? He snatched the bar and sunk lower in the water - only his eyes and the tips of his ears were visible as he practically hid in shame. Quickly he ran it over his body, pushing hard at caked flesh and over the groves of his markings, markings that he had learned Anders enjoyed. They’re beautiful.

He would never feel clean. Not after tonight, not after he had thought such cruel, damning things of taking advantage of a pleasure slave - he deserved whatever punishment his nightmares would bring today. He lifted his head gathering breath as he went down once more into the water, his body taken in a hug of warm water, he thanked whatever god was looking after him that the water was too dark to see anything. He didn’t need to be plagued by images of the man’s loins again.

Anders waited patiently, bathing always having been one of his favorite activities with Master. They could be so close, could touch, caress - bodies became so fluid in water, perhaps that was also part of Isabela’s love for the seas, to be surrounded by this current that brought people together. He watched Fenris’ ears come into view once more, his head sopping wet and drumming into the water as bits of droplets returned to their home.

A tanned hand reached out to him tentatively, offering the soap. Anders stared at Fenris’ long, outstretched arm, still enamored with the white design spiraling around his sun-kissed skin. He took it but wasn’t sure how to voice his issue, “Fenris… I don’t…”

His brows furrowed, “You don’t know what?”

“I don’t know how to wash myself.”

It was such a simple statement but weighed down heavily on Fenris, nearly crushing him, “How is that possible? Surely you’ve bathed.”

Anders’ lips curled slightly, he was treading on very dangerous territory, punishment worthy, but he yearned for Fenris’ touch on his skin, “Master had slaves that tended to me, they would wash me with soaps and creams and lotions,” this was all true (Anders knew he couldn’t lie), but what was also true was the fact Anders could probably very easily clean himself even if it was his first time, especially as he had just watched Fenris do such, “I need someone to teach me.”

Fenris wasn’t sure how to react, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own as he took the soap back into his hand. Breath quickening he beckoned Anders to move closer, “H-here,” he was shaking and hated himself for every quake.

The bar ran down Anders’ shoulder: a safe place to start, “Thank you… Fenris,” he whispered this so softly, so much like a desperate and grateful lover.

He wished his other hand was free and not holding the man steady so that he could tear into its palm with his nails, he had to focus, focus, focus, “You just move the bar back and forth.”

“Mm-hmm,” Anders breathed, moving his back carefully towards Fenris. He wanted to feel more, he needed more. Please touch me, if he hadn’t been trained to be silent he would have likely uttered such a thought.

Fenris’ vision was failing him as he seemed to be losing all of his senses (perhaps all that sense was being directed back down to his hardening member), but his head could so easily fit into the slope between the man’s neck and shoulder. He could clamp down, bite that beautiful stretch of skin that was usually covered by a collar. He could claim Anders. Oh, he hungered. He forced his hands to stay above the water where he could watch them and keep them behaved.

If he was a different man, if he was Hawke… what would he do?

Anders bit onto his lip but smiled as his rear finally met Fenris’ crotch, delighted to find it hard, treating it like his own personal praise. He ordered himself not to grind down, but now he wanted nothing more than to sit. Fenris clenched and pushed Anders, quickly but not meanly, back to his spot in the basin, “I’m sure you understand now.”

He was now devoid of touch, no guiding fingers, no promise kissed by a stiffening cock. Anders felt withered, he was never pushed away if he showed how much he wanted something like that from another. Fenris had seemed so nice, but now perhaps it was all false and he was truly a cruel man. 

The elf could tell from the man’s face that he was upset with the course of the night and while he was sure a freshly freed slave wouldn’t understand his motives, in time Anders would thank him. He shouldn’t be a tool for pleasure, he should be free to seek other means of fulfillment. Relief set in as he watched Anders clean himself. It was an awkward movement, a rocking of the bar from the broad ends while also managing to utilize both of his hands.

It was intriguing, and at least trying to reason the man’s trouble with cleaning himself was a good way of getting his mind off of his too-heated body. For such a seemingly intelligent man Anders was unable to do so much on his own. He learned quickly, at least, but still, for his previous master to have only used Anders for one purpose he left him with nothing. Fenris was baffled by the thought of a slave having his own slaves or being tended to by others… to be an equal but nothing more than a toy. It happened, he knew it did, but to actually meet someone coming out of that dynamic was fascinating.

Anders dunked his head under water, soaping up his hair, wishing he could see Fenris’ cock and the pretty stitching of white that would be grasping it. Their bath together seemed to be coming to an end, Fenris was exhausted still and his need for sleep probably couldn’t be ignored much longer and it seemed Anders was finally accepting that it wasn’t going anywhere exciting.

Fenris left the basin first, his body dripping pools around him as he reached for the scratchy towels he had “borrowed” from Hawke’s house and failed to return. He went first, running the fabric down his legs and remembering to breathe in and out. A day of fighting, dealing with Hawke’s comments, keeping Anders safe… it was exhausting. His eyes scanned the room, Anders was still in the tub waiting, his wet hair painting a pretty picture around his face.

The elf turned, giving the man his back side as he slipped his trousers back on, it was meant for him to dress in private but Anders couldn’t help but eat up the lines that traced up and down Fenris’ body. The elf turned and Anders waited for the man to open a towel for him, he stood, grinning as he exited and dripped onto the floor as well, clamoring to be hugged in a towel.

But it was not a hug, as he touched the fabric it was thrown around his shoulders allowing Fenris to quickly take his leave. Anders waited a few moments, their fire was dying, their bath was draining but the night might still be salvaged if he could behave well enough to still be granted the privilege of sleeping near Fenris. 

He gathered the clothes and quickly ran them back to his room, folding the towel out to dry as well. Fenris’ door was open still when he returned to the hallway, Anders felt excitement in his stomach as he walked towards it. Fenris was throwing a pillow down near the bottom of the bed along with another blanket, his fire was lit lowly but Anders still moved into the room.

“You need to wear pants,” simple words but directed towards Anders only, he followed Fenris’ pointed finger, “and the chamber pot is here.”

Fenris didn’t expect him to go back and get his so he tossed one of his larger pairs, while he was more muscled than Anders the human was still taller than normal, even compared to other humans. He quickly followed the orders and waited for Fenris to call him to the bed. It was a wave of the hand that did it and Anders quickly, almost giddily, curled up at the bottom of Fenris’ bed, resting his head on the pillow, a pillow Fenris didn’t have to get for him but did… another gift.

Anders took back his hastily announced distaste for Fenris, he took it all back, grinning as he tucked in and listened for Fenris’ movement. The elf was exciting, new. He tried to press his grin into the pillow so that it would leave him but he couldn’t stop thinking of Fenris. Directing, eyes that adored and forgave, a mouth that praised… Anders hoped that Master would approve of Fenris; and a secret part of him, a part he would never let anyone, let alone himself, know of wanted Master to disapprove so that Fenris would have to find some way to claim Anders as solely his.


	6. Anders the Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter is really long. Either you're welcome or I'm sorry, haha. :)

Though the circumstances were better it was still a night of restless sleep for the pair. To put it simply it was quite the unusual sleeping arrangement. There were moments Fenris could feel his body detach and prepare for departure into the dream realm only to accidentally brush his foot along Ander’s chest and immediately wake once more. Fenris was not used to sharing a bed, even with Danarius one of his few possessions had been his very own bedroll. This was strange. It was almost as if every time Anders’ breathed Fenris could answer it with his own breath - they were out of sync and the lack of consistency was enough to drive Fenris up to the early morning hours.

Anders, for his part, found himself too filled with questions to be content with rest. His eyes were closed, his chest breathing steadily - but it was at no point a true sleep. When minds are full there is usually no chance for sleep to permeate. The questions were burning too, ones that shamed and thrilled Anders as he thought of the men he looked to for guidance in his life. But now there were questions surrounding Isabela, particularly over her comment comparing Anders to his own Master.

It was a simple banter between them that he had dismissed at the time, “What’s the difference between him and you?”

It was enough to stick in Anders’ head. To say plainly he was Master and Anders was slave didn’t seem enough; later she had tried to point out to him that he was a mage just as much as his Master, that he was a human just as much as his Master. It was a thought process that unless prompted would have never been uncovered by Anders on his own.

He could feel Fenris kicking now, whatever the elf was dreaming must have felt real to him. Anders wondered if he could meet Fenris in the Fade, if their time together could take on a whole new meaning as Anders’ did with Master. The elf hated the Fade and magic it seemed, perhaps simply because he was not a mage and could not fathom what it was like.

There was a heavy rustling and it seemed to match up with the first few rays of sunlight. Fenris threw over the covers, managing to cover Anders in a new blanket in the process. He moved quickly across the room, banging his armor around loudly. The man under the sheets didn’t dare budge and try to watch the display - he figured he’d make it worse if he prodded.

“Broody?” A voice outside the door, “It’s first light… we gotta go or Hawke will get pissy.”

“I’m coming,” a short grunt that the mysterious person behind the door likely never heard.

“Oh, come now,” a woman’s voice, “he’s probably just pouting since he doesn’t like be woken this early.”

A pause and a short laugh, “And how do you know his sleeping habits?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teased.

The door handle wiggled and then without any more warning several bodies entered. Fenris quickly moved for them, to block them from entering further, but the damage was done. He was caught half naked as a body stirred underneath his blankets.

And to make his morning even better Hawke happened to be the last to enter the room and falsely make the connection, “Well, Fenris,” eyes darkened and aiming to hurt, “quite the hypocrite, are we?”

“What are you accusing me of?” Fenris was not in the mood, not after his plagued conscience had kept him up so late, “If it is about the mage then I can quickly dispel whatever ill thoughts you have of me: the man prefers not to sleep alone, some trauma inflicted by his master no doubt,” he moved towards Hawke, gesturing to the armor stand behind the hulking man, “If you’ll excuse me.”

“So there was absolutely no touching involved?” Hawke raised a brow, that impish grin he pulled when he was close to outwitting his opponents - Fenris usually admired it when it wasn’t pointed at him. Hawke kept his face mostly clear of any true tell of emotion, “I’m just making sure our handsome friend has enough time to adjust, that no one misuses him… if you can’t ensure that Fenris--”

“And you think you would do better?” Fenris scoffed, angrily clasping on his gauntlet.

Hawke chuckled, “I believe we have found a sore spot.”

“Oh,” Isabela rolled her eyes, “stop acting like young boys and get over yourselves. Honestly, you’re worse than a couple of whores after a copper.”

“I think we can all agree Anders is worth more than a copper,” the bearded man’s voice was dangerously low and authoritarian; Hawke could sometimes be darker than the evil they killed in their day-to-day lives.

It was difficult to discern the next course of action, where their conversation might turn after heading to a seemingly dangerous bend. Fenris gained control, taking the slightest moment to gentle up his movements and carefully peel back the blanket over Anders. Those amber eyes warmly looked up at the elf; a snare for the unaware. The devotion for someone Anders barely knew twisted in Fenris’ head, “Anders,” his voice had gone soft all on its own, “I suspect you have been listening and know that I will not be here today.”

He waited for confirmation and Anders nodded.

“If it pleases you, you may clean up the study, dining room and den. I should return earlier than before.”

There was tension in Anders’ face and Fenris could read it even if the other man thought it was well hidden. Debate seemed to scream loud enough in the man’s head for Fenris to pick up on it and so he bid the man to speak his mind, “Fenris I do not… this is still…”

“Alright,” the dwarf set down his hefty crossbow - it was no small wonder the man always had a kink in his back he needed massaged out, “I’ll volunteer today,” and before Hawke could protest, “You don’t need two rogues. Daisy is on her way, anyways.”

“You just want to spend time with him so you can get fodder for a new story,” Hawke smirked.

Varric shrugged, “Any story about him would have to be some sort of depraved romance and ancestors’ know I’m no good at those.”

“I’d read it,” Hawke simpered as he passed a glance at Isabela who shook her head in affirmation. 

“He’s going to have to learn to stay in places on his own and take care of himself,” regardless of how lenient he could sometimes be Fenris was still adamant on the original task of training Anders to be free, if he was going to be coddled then it would all be for naught. Fenris never had this; a group of people who wanted to help him, look out for him. He simply had to run from town to town, never knowing the next step or what the punishment might be, having to use what little knowledge he had of a world outside of a master’s and survive.

It seemed the conversation was over, however, as Varric sat himself on the bed and whipped out a pen, “Broody,” he pointed to the corner of the room, “the moldy paper, please?”

“Why would you want this?” He scrunched his face as he used two fingers to gingerly bring it over.

“I could ask you the same question since this is your house after all… here’s what we’re going to do,” the dwarf rolled his shoulders, “We know Blondie enjoys rules and being rewarded. So, I suggest we make a list of expectations and subsequent treats.”

“It should culminate at the end of the month, that’s when he is to leave our care,” for more reasons than were obvious Fenris knew this was a wise rule to stick to. The sooner the man was out of his life the sooner things would be normal, or at least much easier.

Varric nodded, “Sounds good, we’ll all need to work towards this then. What rules should a slave have to teach him to not to follow rules?”

Isabela tilted her head, admiring something in the distance but remaining invested in the conversation, “He’s not a child, Varric. A man doesn’t need rules.”

“Going to the bathroom by himself,” Fenris started a pace around the room, occasionally stealing glances at Anders, “He will be praised.”

“Again,” Isabela turned for the elf, “he’s not some dog you can pat on the head.”

“Let me explain this to you in a way you might understand: he knows nothing else,” this was emphasized with gestures, “The mage is a pleasure slave designed and trained purely for the satisfaction of others. He has been told that his own salvation is through pleasing others.”

She shook her head, still not quite on board, “I just don’t see how this is going to help. Training him the same way those bastards in Tevinter did? Isn’t that just as bad?”

“For now it is the best to work with, it is a system he is familiar with…” he paused, “I agree it is distasteful to be so reminiscent of a magister’s ways but until he is ready to make his own decisions he shall work towards goals with the promise of praise,” attention turned to Anders, “Does this work with you?”

His cheeks were red with anticipation merely listening to the conversation, “Yes, Fenris.”

The elf nodded, corners of his mouth curving just in the slightest, “Already he refers to people using their names. He is doing well.”

“I don’t have too many ideas on rewards,” the dwarf resituated himself, turning to Anders still half wrapped in blankets, “What did your master typically reward you with?”

Anders’ posture straightened as he tried to hide a smile, “Many rewards for my obedience,” he nodded at the door, “May I?”

Fenris gestured that he was allowed to leave for the moment and the party watched the man exit. Their morning had to begin soon, a long day of business for Hawke, but this was too interesting to ignore. Anders returned, hands guarding the chest he had taken from his master’s caravan. Curiosity began to build as he moved to the floor to present its contents.

The first item pulled out was a long strand of pearl beads, each getting larger as they continued down, the man handled them like intricate lace, “When I behaved well Master would reward me with the toys, with his presents and gifts.”

“And you got to wear fancy jewelry?” Hawke’s brow furrowed, he couldn’t tell what sort of reward it would be for anyone, let alone a slave.

“Darling,” Isabela bent down in interest, knowing not to touch the strand, “these are… inserted aren’t they.”

Anders nodded with a passive smile, opening the rest of the box, “On special days he would permit me to beg for him,” he revealed a crystal handled whip, garish for what the object intended use was for. The man chewed on his lip thinking of the memory, “I would beg Master to tease me, it felt so good and he never struck to leave a mark.”

“You--” Fenris was appalled and physically recoiled, “Why would you… how is that...?”

“This seems to be my area of expertise,” Isabela held her hands up to Fenris, understanding exactly what Anders’ master had been interested in, “One might refer to Anders as a submissive… perhaps even a masochist. Whether or not he truly is or has been trained to feel such desires is,” she paused looking at the collection, “another matter but the fact remains that he prefers to submit to other’s whims for the pleasure in it.”

“We will not hit him,” Fenris could taste a rotten note on his tongue, to think anyone would beg to be abused seemed a thing far out of his mind - more impossible than the impossible. To think Anders thought being abused was a reward just made him angrier even if he didn’t know where to direct the emotion, “I will not allow him to be pained.”

“So protective,” Hawke noted aloud.

“Fenris,” Anders’ stared up at the elf, as if his touch and opinion was the only one he cared for, “I like the hurt.”

He shook his head, “You do not. No man can, you do not understand but that is not a reward. That is cruelty.”

The next handful of depraved sex toys did nothing more to change Fenris’ opinion. An ornate flogger decorated in hideous Tevinter patterns (likely a small fortune), several plugs with various gems embedded within, clamps and chains that were clearly meant to pull from a collar. Fenris couldn’t stop his anger from mounting, for someone to have used such things on Anders was an insult. Anders had been humiliated and used and the man did not even know it, instead he had the mind to call it of all things gratification. 

“Please,” the gorgeous blond human had now tilted his head, elongating his neck as he tried to reach a Fenris who had been reduced to rubbing his temples in anger, “I only wish to do well and be rewarded.”

“We should burn each of those revolting instruments of torture,” when that elicited a whine from the mage still kneeling Fenris changed his tone, “Why can’t we reward him with coin or sweets?”

Isabela shook her head, “He doesn’t have a preference on food and let’s ask Hawke’s new slave what she does with all her money.”

Anders whipped his head at that, to stare at the intoxicating bearded man who had, surprisingly, been mostly silent in the matter. The words didn’t fit anything he had been able to gather about his new location, it didn’t make sense for a land so abhorrent of him, a slave, to possess the very same. Hawke grinned at that inquisitive face, “She works for me just like you work for Fenris, Anders… I freed her and slave is not entirely the proper word.”

Fenris nodded, remembering the day, “You have not spoken much over this, Hawke, but you may know the situation best. What are your thoughts?”

“And now you want my opinions?” He grunted, “Fine. You won’t like it but I think you should reward Anders the way he wants,” he held up his hand to make sure Fenris wouldn’t interrupt him, “Orana doesn’t react well to traditional rewards. When I offer her more money she thinks I am abandoning her, when I ask her to have dinner with me she thinks it is a punishment.”

“I am not treating him like a slave.”

“Then don’t,” Hawke shook his head, “I’m not telling you to. All I’m saying is that if he wants to wear a plug then let him,” there was no Hawke without humor, regardless of whether or not it was appropriate and tasteful, “and if you’re looking for someone who is fine with providing Anders with what he needs… look no further”

“I have given you my opinions on that already,” Fenris was practically glaring, but he knew Hawke was brushing him off. He always did.

Isabela rolled her eyes, “You two are being horrible today and,” she pointed to Hawke especially, “you’re missing out on your early daylight hours - we need to wrap this up, boys. Anders, were there any other rewards?”

“Little things,” Anders had perhaps heard the entire conversation but hadn’t truly been listening until he was mentioned by name, “at dinners, if I performed well, I was permitted to lick wine off of Master’s fingers. He might pet me by the fire after a long day of service” memories were flooding him and his blush appeared, “he might order others to draw me a bath of expensive lotions and creams, giving me the most special praise when he pulled me into his embrace at night.”

“There! We can use those,” Varric had been scribbling down ideas throughout most of the conversation. He flattened out the paper one last time, “Alright, so by the end of this week Anders will be staying at the manor by himself and hopefully marking his accomplishments on his own,” he motioned for Anders to join him on the bed, “Alright, Blondie, if you call people by their names you will be allowed some sips of wine at the end of the day. If you remember to use the toilet on your own you’ll be given permission to use one of your, uh, special toys.”

“He uses those wholly on his own then,” Fenris made sure to add.

“Very well. Like yesterday if you do all your cleaning you will be allowed to sleep at the foot of Fenris’ bed. I want to get Merrill to start teaching you some magic--”

“Absolutely not,” Fenris shook his head violently, “He will not--”

“He’s his own person, Fenris,” Varric reminded, “Magic is a part of him, I don’t really like the stuff either but we can’t deny it is something he should have control over. He should be educated on whether or not he uses it.”

“Ah,” Isabela poked at a cloth hanging on the wall, “I forgot to mention that the other day; when we were out he did cast unexpectedly… his collar had been preventing that.”

Varric raised a brow, only the Rivani could ‘forget’ to mention such a thing, “Still objecting?”

“I…” he looked to Anders who was still fixated on him, waiting for approval or denouncement, “I suppose good might come out of it if he knows to control himself.”

“How about this one then… if he asks people three questions of his own, and they are not asking for permission, just general uncertainties he has then that person is allowed to touch you,” he could feel Fenris’ stare grow, “in an appropriate manner of course. As in a hug or a head pat, shoulder rub… just any sort of touch.”

Anders nodded slowly, but his smile was wide.

“And the last bit,” Varric pointed at that action, “If you tell us whether or not you approve or disapprove you will be given some sort of special reward - I don’t have all the details on the last one yet but this should do for now.”

Hawke hitched up his sword as he rolled his shoulder, “We’re off then,” he grinned one last time turning to Varric on the bed, “Do promise to tell me stories about your time together.”

“Wouldn’t dare,” he chuckled. Anders liked his deep voice, it was nice and easy to listen to. 

The group headed out the door, leaving the dwarf on the bed with Anders. Him and Fenris shared one look with another, both searching for reassurance before they’d be separated. And just like that Anders felt empty again. He wasn’t sure what it was about Fenris, what made him look at the man for direction. It could be as simple as knowing Fenris was who he was. Now someone to sleep next to and therefore akin to someone who could direct him.

“So you should probably start on your cleaning then right?”

Anders nodded, “Right away… thank you,” he could hear himself mumbling and tried to steady his own voice, “thank you for helping.”

“Of course, you’re one of our misfits now, I hope you enjoy your time in the club.”

It was comforting, again either the voice or the man seemed to make everything more understandable. He hadn’t known many dwarfs, but he could sense the kindness in this one. As he gathered his cleaning supplies and took to the kitchen he couldn’t help but ruminate over his new rules - and they certainly were foreign.

This concept of “choice” was still confusing. Isabela’s story of being a thieving pirate on the seas replayed in his head. Even if he had the choice to steal, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Want” was also difficult to decipher. So often the language used by his master had combined both “want” and “need” leaving little room for choice as it was all already decided. By definition a need was pressing, would obviously take priority and he had only ever been taught to need.

“I really can’t get over how good this place is looking,” Varric found himself pulling out chairs so Anders could sweep underneath them easier, “you might have a knack for this.”

He wanted to respond but he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. The list of new rules ran through his head again… he had been told they wanted his opinions, for him to talk freely. Yet he didn’t think they realized what an enormous task that was. If he did speak he had a chance to misspeak. Misspeaking could lead to a multitude of newer problems… rejection, abandonment. He just couldn’t risk that.  
.  
“Look,” the dwarf plopped himself in one of the chairs as Anders began pulling out the long carpet to beat the dirt off of, “you think we can’t see when you want to talk but we really can. You do this face where your face scrunches or you bite your lip. I can see you want to talk, the wheels are turning up in that head of yours, so just go for it.”

He paused, “What if it’s not appropriate? What if I’m impolite?”

“Who cares?” Varric laughed as he sat back further in the chair, “You’re free to be as quiet or as loud as you want, as polite or as rude as you want - you are free to behave in any manner you so please. Besides, Blondie, I’m a dwarf, honestly you can talk to me any way you want.”

Anders picked up the broom again, but thought on the exchange a moment longer, “Why does it matter if you’re a dwarf?”

“Well, it really shouldn’t but the truth is you’re higher on the pecking order than me. Humans can say whatever they want to us other races.”

“It’s similar in Tevinter, and yet you don’t have slaves?”

Varric shrugged, “Nope, we just have baseless racial divides. Hmm,” he hummed for a moment as he turned to his pen and paper once more, ignoring Anders.

“Did I say something wrong?” He wasn’t sure why the dwarf had stopped speaking, surely that was a sign that the man wanted to end the conversation. While navigating social norms was tricky in this new land he had picked up basic ideas of what interactions were like for his master. This was uncommon, he remembered a time that stood out where a similar situation had afflicted the two of them at a political function.

The magisters were arguing, no one really thrilled with a new resolution that would limit the reserves of unmarked slaves. In most all cases, unmarked slaves were used for one, unspoken purpose: blood magic. Many argued against the restrictions, claiming it only benefited those that had multitudes of slaves already. His master was one of the men arguing for the restrictions, Anders had watched the passion in his speech that often was reserved only for him at night. 

One of his master’s good friends, another magister, hated this stance and shot back with slanderous accusations. It was a nasty day at the magisterium with many men and women leaving angrily and threatening to release information gathered over the years on one another. The magister had stared at his master, opening his mouth for a brief second only to close it again. That’s how Anders knew the relationship between them had suffered, the other man didn’t even want to share words with his master.

He hoped this wasn’t the case with Varric, but there wasn’t much else he could go off on. Within his span of cleaning he came across a nearly pristine cabinet still containing fine plates and silverware and an unmarked tablecloth. As most of the room was edging towards completion he figured he’d try his hand at tidying a table. 

Each plate was unique but still sat well together, their designs told a story. On the first plate, for the head of the table, was a decorated circle of a knight, triumphant and standing tall in glory. As Anders continued placing the plates the story progressed. A dragon appeared, carrying on for three dishes with its scaly body. In the end the knight and the dragon fought ending once more with the head of the table.

Anders didn’t know how to read, but that didn’t stop him from knowing stories. When Master would sit in his study he would sometimes undo Anders’ chain and offer his lap. It was such a wonderful feeling to situate himself in the man’s strong embrace as he read through a tale. On certain days, when Master was in a particularly good mood, he’d read the strange letters off the page, regaling Anders with fun adventures and history.

“Andraste’s knickers,” the dwarf sucked in a breath, “you’ve been doing this so quietly I had no idea you were done… it looks really nice in here.”

He smiled, looking down at his feet, “Thank you.”

Varric rubbed the back of his neck, it had stiffened as he was writing, “Sorry I got so distracted there, you just gave me a really good idea for a story and I couldn’t stop,” he smiled awkwardly as if only now aware of the strange tension in the room, “I hope you didn’t mind.”

“You write stories?” Anders looked down at the artistic plates once more, “What do you write about?”

“Well, all kinds of things, Blondie,” the feeling in the room eased and Varric leaned back, “Right now I’m writing mostly about Hawke and his adventures,” he let out a chuckle, “I know he’s got some rough edges but he really is a good guy.”

“And something I said is being added to his story?” It was an interesting feeling, he had never before thought of crafting his own stories or that he’d ever influence someone else’s.

“I mean what we were saying about racial divides is for a different story, but I’ve come up with lots of different themes and tales over the years,” he saw Anders face light up with that, “do you like stories, Anders?”

He blushed, “Um, well I don’t write any, obviously,” his body swayed nervously, “but I do like hearing them.”

Varric smiled, “Who would have thought? And what are your favorites?”

Anders tried to keep his smile at bay, but he was enjoying this topic. Stories were wonderful breaks from the day, so interesting and diverse. If he tried hard enough he could make a certain character come to life and feel as though he lived their life for the day, “I like the story of Apius Munius, the mage who conquered forty Qunari in one spell… and the one about little Lepida, an elven slave who was so good for her master she was awarded a blessing from the divine.”

“I’ve never heard those before,” he stood up from the chair, “I’ll tell you what… you’ve done such a good job cleaning in here, let’s head upstairs and I’ll light a fire and we can swap stories?”

“Really?” He tried not to seem too excited, “that sounds truly wonderful.”

The pair worked their way up the stairs with Varric continuing to remark on the state of the house. At this rate there were only a few rooms that still needed work. After that Fenris would have a home just as good as Hawke’s. They entered the bedroom and Varric got to work lighting the fire, it was a nice ambiance that set the mood for a good telling.

Carefully he set a few pillows in the rocking chair, pulling it closer to the fire place. He looked over at Anders standing patiently in the corner, “Hey, before we get started can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“These,” he gestured towards Anders’ piercings, “things you have on… are they comfortable?”

Anders shook his head, “I don’t really notice them.”

He wasn’t sure whether to push or not, but it got the best of him, “You really don’t have to wear them. We can take them out if they’re painful which I suspect they are.”

“Would it please you?”

Varric shook his head, “Nope, let’s ask that question again, Blondie. Would it please you?”

“Me?” He paused to think, “I’ve always had them and I wear them everyday,” he could feel the flesh that was pierced for their function throb, “I-I, I don’t know if I want them gone.”

“That’s no problem, Blondie, you can decide on your own. I was just wondering,” he could feel the other man’s uneasiness, “let’s get to that storytime,” he began climbing into the rocking chair, “now I’m claiming this chair bu--”

Anders was already trying to find a way to seat himself within Varric’s lap on the rocking chair. It happened rather quickly and while Varric wasn’t sure why a grown human thought they could sit comfortably in a dwarf’s lap he didn’t argue with it. He did adjust, however, to accommodate Anders’ overly long legs.

“You’re quite tall for a human, you know that?”

“And you’d be quite short for a human.”

It was stated so matter of factly that Varric had to laugh, “I’m not laughing at you, Blondie, that was just a very entertaining thing to say,” he collected himself, now looking up at the content, oddly innocent face before him, “Would you like to tell a story first or should I?”

“I,” he paused, “I don’t know if I know any stories well enough to share with you, unfortunately.” 

“Well, that’s okay,” the fire crackled and popped as the two rocked back and forth, “why don’t we make our own story?”

“We can do that?” Anders hadn’t heard of such a thing, or thought of it, but stories did have to come from somewhere.

Varric nodded, “Sure, we’ll come up with a main character, a setting and a plot. After that the story practically writes itself,” he took a moment to readjust one last time, “So, let’s think of a main character. They can be anyone in the world, Anders: a human, a dwarf, an elf. Male or female. It could even be a nug for all we know.”

“Can it be a cat?” He loved cats. Master was allergic but on the rare occasions when he was brought to another family’s party the chance of there being a wandering cat was high. They were considered quite regal creatures in Tevinter, pampered sometimes more than their owners.

“A cat, of course,” his voice deepened as he got into his storyteller voice, “And what is our cat’s name?”

He brought a finger to his lips as he thought, “Hm, the cat can have my name!”

“Anders the cat?” Varric questioned it only a moment before going with it, “Of course, Anders the cat! And what is our feline friend up to?”

The human was having a hard time not smiling at the thought of himself wandering around as a little cat, tail stuck high in the air, “I’m looking for mice, I presume. I’m on an adventure for mice.”

Varric mused to himself, picking out exactly the type of story he wanted to tell, “Are you comfortable, Anders?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good, because our story is a long one,” even if the idea was unoriginal, just to see the relaxed look on Anders’ face was worth it, something about his genuineness made Anders an attractive person and Varric didn’t mind going out of his way to make him smile. In fact he was starting to think he actually wanted to make the man smile all the time.

“I’m excited to hear this story. Thank you for this reward.”

“It’s my pleasure, Blondie. Now, on to Anders the cat,” he paused, letting the mood set itself, “Once upon a time there was a small cat, couldn’t have been more than four years old. He was well cared for, a real special furry friend to a special human in his house. His name was Anders and everywhere Anders would go people would know, they would hear his furry little paws on the stone of the house and the small bell around his neck jingle.”

“Everyday Anders would race to the kitchen, waiting for his human to give him a nice warm bowl of milk. His tongue would lap at the milk and he loved ending his meal curled up at his human’s feet in front of the fire,” Varric looked up briefly, to watch Anders’ face. Part of being a good storyteller was knowing which direction to take the tale based on the audience, “One day little Anders was rummaging through the larder for scraps. He paused, hearing some noise in a nearby bin.”

Anders looked at Varric, eyes full of wonderment, “Was it a mouse?”

“We’ll get there, shush,” he politely chided, “Now, Anders heard something. He carefully prowled back and forth in front of the bins. Eventually there was a loud squeak as a small brown creature dashed past him. The chase ensued. They knocked over pans, bowls and boxes, Anders hadn’t even noticed his blue collar, the one with the bell, tearing off on one of the dishes.”

“A servant opened the door and the pair darted further into the house until they reached another door slightly ajar. Anders watched as the mouse squeezed past, gathering all of his courage he raced forward, pushing the door further open and finding the mouse scattering about in the grass. Just when he thought all hope was lost he pounced, grabbing the mouse in his paws.”

“I’ve got you now, the cat meowed and just like that the conquest was over. But it wasn’t so simple. You see, Anders turned and saw the door into the house now closed, even with all his clamoring he couldn’t find a way back in. He was locked outside. Poor Anders wandered the street… he was hungry and lonely. No one put out milk for him and no one petted him. His collar was gone - no one could claim him. Anders continued walking, feeling as if he’d lost his family.”

“That’s when Anders wandered straight into a fierce looking Mabari hound,” Varric paused for breath, “Anders was nervous, ready to run, but the hound simply tilted his head and offered Anders some of his food scraps. The two quickly became friends.”

“What was the dog’s name?”

Varric thought a moment, “Hawke. Hawke let Anders into his own house. His humans enjoyed letting Hawke get up to whatever he wanted. They let their pets be free. With Hawke’s help, along with some of the other animals, Anders quickly adjusted to this new life and found that it was more fulfilling than before. Sure, no one left out a bowl of milk for him, but that just meant he could go out with Hawke and the other animals to find one himself. And so all the animals lived happily ever after.”

Anders didn’t say anything for a while which was not the response Varric thought he’d get. He looked down at his hands, “You really told that story as if I was the cat. You… think Hawke and his friends are going to help me in this new world.”

“Well, that’s how the story goes anyways, but you can always change it. That’s the best part about stories, none of them are really set in stone. One chip in the marble and you can change the whole meaning,” he tilted his head, still maintaining eye contact with Anders, “But I did mean what I said. You have people who want the best for you here. Broody, Fenris, wants the best for you so do Isabela, Hawke and myself. It may not make sense but you have just gone through something horrible. We want to help.”

“Anders the cat’s life was fine. Why wouldn’t they let him back in the house?”

“The door closed,” Varric sighed, he knew he should have gone with a different story, “It’s like turning a page in a story. Anders the cat turned the page and now he’s in a new chapter,” he gave Anders a few rubs on his back, “You’re in a new chapter.”

He wasn’t ready to accept that just yet, but for some reason he felt like he would soon. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon he would accept that the narrative had changed. 

“Can I have a hug?”

“Of course you can, Blondie,” Varric smiled as he pulled the man into a friendly embrace, “We’ll all look out for you and before you know it you’ll feel like the day we came across you was the best day of your life. For what it’s worth, and I don’t ever claim to be good with words, I’m sorry for what’s happened to you.”

“I’ve been very lucky my whole life,” he pulled back from the hug, “but thank you.”

“Anytime,” they sat in silence for a handful of minutes before Varric continued, “Can I ask you for a story now? I’m sure you have plenty that you’re keeping away from us.”

He shook his head, “I’m really not special, I don’t think my stories can compare to yours or Hawke’s or Fenris’.”

“Nonsense!” Varric rolled his shoulders just to adjust before pressing on, “Your very existence in Tevinter is a story! I’d love to know how an Anders found himself in a Magister’s possession.”

The man looked away, there was pressure to tell the story now. Varric had given him something and now he owed the man, and yet he didn’t want to say anything. He had been taught to say nothing about it, “The, uh, the memories are faint, I’m sorry. I only remember small parts.”

“That’s okay,” he nudged freely as if giving him the entire stage.

Anders took a deep breath, “I was about twelve years old, I think, when men in heavy armor and thick helmets came to my village. It’s hard for me to describe what my childhood there was like because I really don’t remember. Maybe I had a mother and a father, sisters and brothers, but I can’t see any of their faces,” he went quiet as he tried to picture the scene, “The soldiers had us all line up, boys and girls, all my age. Then they struck us with something, I don’t remember what it was but it hurt.”

Varric rolled his eyes, “Sounds like Templars.”

“They were looking for people with magic.”

“Definitely Templars.”

“They struck me and whatever glowing blue liquid was edged in their weapon got me to strike back. I was the only one in the entire village who did, and so they took me away from it all,” he shook his head, “it was terrifying and I remember so desperately trying to escape from the caravan. I don’t think I saw my family, that has to be why I don’t remember… if I had seen them then I would have taken a hard look at them, so as to not forget like I do now.”

The dwarf was quiet, no amount of witty or relatable dialogue could make this easier… he knew he probably shouldn’t have asked.

“We hit a bump in the road and the soldiers stopped, they got out to investigate. I remember it being dark and I didn’t dare look up from where I was hidden amongst the supplies. There were strange noises like steel clashing and muffled screams, the most peculiar of them all was the whoosh of what could have only been fire. The caravan began to move again, this time taking a sharp turn in direction.”

“Were the Templars, I mean, soldiers gone?”

“Yes, they had to have been because the people who found me the next day were not wearing heavy armor, they were in dark robes but not entirely like those worn in Tevinter. They spoke about me as if I wasn’t present in a language I didn’t understand. I bit back when they tried to inspect me, I was quite untame in my youth. All it earned me was a slap to the face and a muzzle.”

He felt like he might regret asking but he continued, “What happened then, Blondie?”

“It’s a blur, and,” he felt his body go numb at the mere idea of pulling the memories back, “I’m sorry I don’t want to think about it any longer…” his face was growing hot, eyes stinging as he bit back tears, “I was taught how to be a good pet. They found use in me and trained me. My saving grace was the day Master bought me and showered me with love and kindness for the first time in my life and I am grateful for that.”

Varric sighed, “Again, kid, I’m really sorry about all of that… it’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry for not telling the story better,” he tried to push aside the emotions and the pain, “I wish my story had more cats, like yours.”

“You know what? You’re in a new chapter, just like we said. I mean, who knows? This chapter might have a basket full of kittens waiting for you in the future.”

Anders couldn’t help but smile at that, “This is all quite… strange. You’re speaking with me like an equal and I’m responding the same way. I’m sorry, it’s taking a long time to get used to.”

“I appreciate you being so honest with me, Anders, and there’s no rush to change anything - take your time. Let’s say we try to clean up that study, that shouldn’t take too long and besides I’ve always wanted to see what tomes Fenris was keeping from me.”

The pair moved, silent but content, and found their way to the study. Anders was becoming more proficient with his broom and mop, halving the amount of time it took him originally to clean a floor. While there were still nagging feelings just having something mundane to focus on felt therapeutic. A dwarf and an unusually tall human were a good match for the study. Varric took to dusting the lower books while Anders merely wiped up the ones nearest top.

Anders took to a blood stain on the main desk as Varric tossed a few books into a selective pile, “You know, Blondie, one of these days I’ll have to teach both you and Fenris how to read… you’ve got some good stuff here.”

He slowed his scrubbing, making sure he had heard every word, “Fenris doesn’t know how to read?”

Varric looked up, dragging a book more than half his size to his pile. Anders quickly moved over to help as the dwarf wiped off his hands, “Nope. He’s in the same boat you’re in.”

“Honey, I’m home!” Hawke’s deep voice bellowed through the empty, but clean, mansion.

“We’re in the study!” 

“Well, color me surprised,” Isabela stood in the study, looking at the nearly pristine office space, “You two did a fantastic job.” 

“We should open a business,” Varric laughed.

Anders moved off to the side as the group exchanged news, he stuck to folding his rags carefully into a neat pile. He tried to stay out of the way but couldn’t help feeling eyes were on him. Without risking too much he carefully turned, just slightly. It was Fenris. Fenris was staring at him while the others paid him no mind.

For some reason that excited Anders.

“So, Hanged Man?” Hawke grinned widely as he set a large sack on the floor, “Isabela you said you wanted these amulets?”

“Yes, please,” she quickly snatched her loot, turning to the door, “I have an appointment with a gentleman friend from way back when so I will see you all later.”

“Bye ‘Bela,” Hawke was practically singing as he divided the sovereigns in his hand. Anders couldn’t help but notice the way his foot tapped to his happy tune, every tap tracked a little more dirt onto the floor… the floor he had just cleaned.

Fenris peered into the bag himself and grabbed a handful of red potions, “Varric,” he continued digging, “how were things today?”

“Oh, he was a delight, Broody, no problems here,” he winked at Hawke as the man handed him a generous split of the coin.

The elf nodded, “This is good to hear,” he stood and turned to Anders slowly, “the house is looking really great. Thank you for your work.”

“Are you two heading to the Hanged Man? I’ll buy drinks,” Hawke was pointing to Anders and Fenris as if they were a pair. 

“I appreciate the offer but I’m good, Hawke, I think I’m going to stay here and drink,” before the man could even ask a follow-up, “and Anders is not going anywhere with you.”

“Drinking alone then?”

Fenris didn’t respond and that seemed to be everyone’s cue to leave. Hawke and Varric left, easing tension with a few jokes between the two of them. The only one remaining was Anders. They both stared at each other for a few moments.

“I’m going up to my room to drink, do not disturb me.”

It was so sudden and cold, Anders didn’t know what to make of it. As Fenris began to leave he felt compelled to follow. He wasn’t sure what he wanted or what he should say but he didn’t want to leave things as they were with no clear-cut reasoning.

“Why are you following me?” The words were firm, anger laced behind them.

His breath picked up, “I… well, I thought for my work I get rewards.”

“You’re sleeping in your own bed tonight,” he continued moving.

Those words cut through Anders, “B-but I did what you had asked? Why are you punishing me, please I must to know?”

“You want to know why?” He whirled around, finger pointing directly Anders’ way, “because you’re in the real world now and the real world isn’t fair. I didn’t get any sleep last night and I really just need to be alone,” he snorted, “this house is huge, occupy yourself with something. I don’t care, just don’t bother me.”

His face was hot with embarrassment and fear, he was close to crying and flat-out throwing himself at Fenris’ feet. He so badly did not want to be left alone. Fenris quickly made his way up the stairs and without a second glance slammed his door in Anders’ face. This did the man in and he crumpled, sliding down along the door frame and giving into sobbing.

The hot, nervous tears rolled down his cheeks as he tried to find a way to calm himself. He felt as if he had done everything right and was being punished still. How badly he wanted to cry out and make noise, but deep-down he knew that’d make it all worse. Briefly he wondered if he could catch up to Hawke or Varric, any type of companionship to get him through the night. And yet he felt that such an act would be a betrayal to the elf behind the door. 

Why Fenris’ opinion and support meant so much to him he did not know, nor understand. Like so much of this new world it was a mystery. 

Eventually, after what must have been an hour of senseless crying he moved. He opened the door to the quarters that had been given to him, the rocking chair still poised near the fire. The night was so young and he forced himself to think back on boring nights in Tevinter. He felt so cherished and loved back then, Master rarely went a day without occupying him in some capacity.

As he neared his bed he tripped on something heavy. His chest. Something sinister lit inside him, something he knew would net him punishment. And yet he wanted to be bad, to do something wrong. Carefully, he undid the latch, opening his box of pleasure objects. He brushed his fingers along the toys, breathing in deeply as if he could still sense a trace of Master in the hand-crafted objects.

Without prompting he found one of the plugs, he sniffed back one last tear as he grabbed the finely carved object. Quietly, as if he feared he’d be caught the minute he made a peep, he found his bed. A deep breath in and out. Gently he laid himself onto the blankets and pillows.

He was thorough and careful. He’d never done this before on his own, he never would have dared to. Anders spread his legs, pushing down his skirt until he was completely naked. His eyes closed as his heartbeat soared. There was an invisible hand guiding his, he wished it was Master’s… or Fenris’, or even for that matter Hawke’s. It just had to be someone else’s hand helping to guide him.

The room was too hot, maybe it was the fire, or the restricting blankets, but he was growing warmer by the second. He let the backs of his nails trace down from his chest to his thighs and then he reached down. This was not unfamiliar, he had gotten to this point before but always with Master present and directing. 

Anders chewed on his lips as his own fingers poked at his entrance. He wished there was a body on top of his, strong and masculine. Almost like clockwork his head fell into the pillow, trying to craft a scene in his head. Musk was in the air, sweat, a hint of lyrium, man… it smelled like a man as he carefully circled his hole.

There was something reminiscent of a listful smile on his face as he spat on his fingers. Back down they traced, until he was ready. The wet feeling mixed with his fantasy as he pushed into himself. One finger rubbing back and forth until it was engorged entirely. 

“Mmm, please,” he was speaking to the ghost of man on top of him, giddy with lust as he pushed in a second finger.

It didn’t have to be anyone, it just had to be someone. A man who could take control and fill him up the way he needed it. Wanted it? No, it didn’t matter, not now. He couldn’t believe what he was doing as he inserted his third finger. What would happen if Master walked in and saw? Saw this blatant lack of regard for his orders? 

“Ooh,” Anders bit back a moan at the thought of the punishment he would receive for breaking the rules. For how awful and ungrateful he was being right now. It only made him dig harder.

With a roll of his hips he removed his hand, grabbing the wooden plug set beside him and sucking on it just enough to wet. No ceremony was saved as he shoved it back into his hole, pushing it further and further until he felt filled and the base bottomed out. It felt like nothing in this world, which wasn’t necessarily true - Master’s actual cock was something to behold… but it felt amazing nonetheless. 

“A-Anders,” Fenris, mouth agape, could only stare at the sight before him. His body swayed as he drunkenly entered the room. 

Anders didn’t stop, merely moaning once more as Fenris blocked the light from the fire.

“What in the world do you think you are doing?” He spat the words watching the man’s hips roll back and forth.

“Please,” he looked up at Fenris, never had he been so ready to be taken, “oh, please, Fenris fuck me.”

The drunken thoughts swirled in his head. He watched as Anders teasingly pulled the plug in and out of himself. Fenris wanted to be in there instead, so badly, and yet something kept screaming no.

“No, I-I…” he shook his head, now throbbing with the effects of five bottles of wine, “I won’t d-do that to you…”

“But I’m asking, please,” he moaned as carefully as he could, hoping Fenris would make eye contact with him and give into lust, “this is something I want; I’m telling you I want it, Fenris. I want you.”

It was as if he was entangled, he moved back from the bed, trying to turn and find his way to his own room. He hoped desperately this were all a dream, something he could wake from and forget. Accidentally, he tripped forward, landing slightly on the bed with his body bent just so that his lips could meet Anders.

No matter how many times he said no in his head he still went in. He couldn’t resist those lips, those stupid lips that were meant to pull him in. Anders nudged him slightly and soon the elf was on top of the human.

They kissed, soft lips pressed onto one another. He could taste the hastily drunken wine on Fenris’ tongue, leaving him with only comforting thoughts. Master had tasted like this after parties, this was how things should be.

Fenris shook his head but found his hand tracing down Anders’ body, stopping and touching one of the piercings he had been fixated on earlier, “You’re… you’re like a desire demon. You’re tempting me.”

“Thank you,” a drunken kiss snuck between words, “Thank you, Fenris. For this is the best reward I could receive. You honor me,” another kiss and an adventurous smile, “and I get to see your beautiful tattoos up close.”

One finger. That was all it took, one gentle finger tracing a pattern laced in white on the elf’s body. Fenris grew a color Anders had never seen before, “How dare you touch me!”

The human recoiled, terrified now for punishment as that was all that could come next. He had done something wrong, outstayed his welcome. Natural instinct took over as he threw himself to Fenris’ feet, leaving the bed and forgetting all his ungrateful thoughts. He begged, “Oh please, Fenris, please,” fear now had him choking on words, “I apologize for everything, all my transgressions, please forgive me, please.”

It was if the alcohol had left his body, it was still there, but it wasn’t doing the talking anymore, “I, I’m sorry this is unbecoming of me,” Fenris sat down, head still whirling but manageable, “Anders, I am sorry for yelling and taking advantage…”

“I know you must want to throw me out, or flog me in an unpleasant manner but please forgive me.”

“I don’t want to do those things,” he looked down at the groveling man, still looking stunning and reeking of sex, “I want you to forgive me. You are still stuck in a slave’s mentality, you cannot consent and I refuse to take advantage of that.”

Anders was trying to process, “You’re training me not to be a slave and I am doing more and more without any commands.”

“Yes,” he shook his head, waving a hand at the words, “You’re doing very good, but we can’t do this Anders.”

“May I ask why?”

“Exactly.”

Anders chewed on his lip, “Fine, then I ask why. Why can’t we do this?”

“Because we are too much alike,” he groaned as the wine set into a headache, “You are a constant reminder of the submission I once gave another and I am trying to move past that life, Anders.”

“I’m not trying to--”

He stopped him, standing to leave the room, “Anders, we are just too similar. I was once a slave too.”


	7. The Fade, The Dalish, and Nail Polish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Very sorry I've been taking so long to update. I am currently working on the next chapter (which will be salacious, just a hint) but I hope it doesn't take me as long as this chapter seemed to. I hope you're all enjoying the story and the characterization.

“Um, hello there,” the voice was quiet but not without a gentle smile behind the words. She tapped lightly on the door once more, “Anders, right? Well, it’s me, oh! I guess you can’t see me behind the door, it’s Merrill. We met at the Hanged Man a few nights ago?”

He hadn’t moved, not voluntarily anyways. The sun was clear into the sky by now, his window revealed this truth. Regardless, he remained wrapped up in the blanket from the night before… too much to process, too much that he’d fail to understand.

What did Fenris mean? What did any of this mean? He had no basis to go off of, no previous experience with such an oddity of interaction. 

A calm hand knocked on the door once more, “I can just go if you’re not feeling well… but Varric suggested I maybe stop by and --”

He opened the door for her before she talked herself further, “I’m sorry,” he felt out of body as words left his mouth, “Please forgive me for not answering right away.”

“Oh, no need for sorrys, I was just worried about you,” she grinned up at the tall human hoping to ease him as she had heard he could be difficult to read at times.

A few seconds passed and the awkwardness permeated, Anders responded first, “I’m afraid I don’t quite remember meeting you earlier…”

“May I come in?” 

They both moved into the room and she found herself growing nervous - she knew at some point she’d say something wrong. Nevertheless, she persisted.

“I suppose a proper introduction is required then,” she held out her hand to which Anders stared, “I believe you humans shake these… or, oh maybe I got that wrong.”

“My name is Anders,” he bowed slightly; standing brought more of himself back to reality. Suddenly, the friendly elf was more interesting than the looming questions plaguing him, “Your tattoos are quite remarkable.”

“Oh!” She blushed, “Well, thank you! They’re called Vallaslin among my people. I’m one of the Dalish, though I doubt you’ve heard of us in Tevinter.”

He shook his head, “No I have not… is that a country?”

She giggled, “Oh, if only Mythal’s grace were so willing. We’re just groups of the people around Thedas reclaiming and living with bits of ancient elven lore.”

Anders stretched his leg as he stood in the strange conversation, “I’ve never heard of such a thing. All the elves I’ve ever known walk in the Maker’s light.”

“How fascinating!” She clasped her hands together, “I’m sorry if it seems I’m intruding… well, all the others were a bit busy today and I just wanted to make sure you got some food,” all attention was brought to the small wooden basket at her side, “I brought some tea to heat up and a nice pastry from Hawke’s house.”

“You are most kind, Merrill,” he bowed his head again, hoping to show true courtesy with the elf.

She seemed radiant with the affirmation of her gift, giddly retrieving a cup and a flask of water for the tea, “We should go somewhere where there’s actual daylight. I believe there’s a balcony through the room next to the stairs, Hawke and I found it when he was poking around for treasure.”

He followed her dutifully as they navigated the house. In the silence he wondered where Fenris had gone to, like before the elf seemed to occupy most of his thoughts. How badly he wanted to ask things… how badly he ached to continue where they left off last night. 

If he closed his eyes he could feel Fenris’ strong hands on his body once more. Wrapped in some fit of passion. It was different than his master’s. Where Fenris seemed rushed by factors he couldn’t control, Master had always taken his time, slowly admiring his toy before he let ravenous desires take hold. Their lips, though, that is where a foreign fascination was developing. Often, Master’s lips on Anders’ were searching, he would press and press until he found what he wanted, the sometimes chapped lips rubbed across Anders in a way that added to their dynamic; one where Master took and Anders submitted.

Fenris kissed differently, drunkenly, but as if he was giving an offering. Lips pushed just far enough that Anders could meet back… a give and take. It was like he shared the kiss instead of consumed it and that was the best description Anders could apply. His hand reached up to touch his pout once more, feeling for any sign or trace that would prove the elf had been there.

The scenery changed, much to the surprise of Anders. It was as if he hadn’t even known such an open nook existed in the sprawling mansion. Just a staircase away stood a welcoming balcony that peered out over Hightown. Sprawling mansions laid out before him in the view and for the first time he was able to take in the city.

His eyes tried following the confusing patchwork of sectors, sharp turns and open space seemed applied haphazardly. In the distance he observed a series of long, laid out stairs leading to an even grander building. Along the metal fences stood typical Tevinter statuettes. For a brief moment, even in the warm embrace of the sun, he felt a chill as he fell into the gaze of one of the foreboding ravens.

“The Viscount is supposed to live there but,” she tilted her head slightly, “he is dead now. Oh, you’ve missed so much, Anders! Such a shame too, it’s all really interesting.”

She beckoned him to sit near her on one of the balcony chairs. As he sat his eyes lit up in surprise; the elf’s hands were producing fire as she handled the pot of water.

“Y-you’re…” he didn’t seem to be able to articulate it, “you’re a mage!”

His change in pitch caught her off guard and she expelled the flames, “Yes I am.”

Neither was sure what to say next and so they stared at one another. Everything Anders knew of magic and what it meant in terms of structure was falling apart. He had never seen an elf produce magic and while it was now clearly a reality it still confused him.

“I believe I must apologize for my tone, Madama,” he swallowed cautiously, “I feel as though I have not given you as much respect as you’ve required.”

Merrill’s wide eyes focused on the strange human, “No, no,” she shook her head quickly as she repeated her negation, “No, not at all there’s no need to change how you see me. It’s really all quite fine,” she paused, “are you saying that because I’m a mage?”

He took a deep breath conflicted over how to proceed, “I’m not sure I understand much anymore, but all my life I’ve been told mages require the highest respect. I’ve never met an elven mage or assumed one to be possible, but you have proven otherwise and--”

“Wait,” she held up her hands to quiet him, hoping to comprehend the conversation and find a way to relate to the confused man, “Anders, you yourself are a mage… so that doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“If, as you’ve said, all mages require respect then you require that same respect too.”

He shook his head with a smile, as if it were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard, “That’s not how it works. Mages, the magisters and their apprentices, those who use magic freely are to be respected. I am not of that honor, not worthy of that in the least.”

The elf frowned and such an expression seemed uncharacteristic on her face, “That’s very sad. Even if I don’t know you well I think you are worthy… and not just because you’re a mage but because you’re a person.”

Again he was stumped, “I don’t understand. I-” the confusing thoughts of the previous night were biting once more along with all the other questions he had brewing. It was stifling, “It’s all… hard.”

Merrill relented and smiled, “I can imagine…” carefully she lit the pot once more, getting it to a boil. With great grace she poured the brewed tea into two cups, handing one to Anders, “I was in your shoes not too long ago.”

“You were a slave as well?” 

“Oh, no, and thankfully so,” she took a sip of her tea - it tasted of the Sundermount, “I once belonged to a life completely different from this one. Life living amongst the Dalish is one filled with travel and tradition - I had barely known a human before Hawke was whisking me away to live here in Kirkwall.”

He felt some sort of connection to her, “You were taken from your home.”

“Yes,” she treaded carefully, “and everything was different. I was no longer near my Keeper every hour of every day, no longer reciting elven chants before rituals, no longer even eating what I had grown up on. It wasn’t easy to feel so out of place.”

He rubbed the warm ceramic in his hands. For just a brief moment he wondered what would happen if he’d conjure the flames himself… would it work, would the world end? The woman’s story seemed so similar to his own and yet she presented it as if there were little for her to mull over, “How did you do it?”

“This is my home now…” she smiled as a gentle breeze rolled past them, rustling the parchment that the pastry sat in, “I said that to myself everyday for a month before it felt natural. Hawke actually gave me the best advice, you know he was forced to leave his home too?”

Anders shook his head as he listened, “It seems no one is truly from this place. They’re all guests.”

“I suppose that’s a good way of looking at it. Anyways, Hawke told me to remember my favorite bits of life with the Dalish - to take what I needed from that past life and make it into a part of my new life here,” she lifted her teacup as if showcasing it, “the blossoms I pick on the Sundermount for my tea, the songs I sing as I clean my home, the way I braid my hair just like the keeper taught me: they’re all pieces that I hold dearly to myself.”

He closed his eyes and could almost picture it. The elf wandering the mountains for her favorite flower; her humming a foreign tune through the marketplace. What would that be for him? What were bits of his past life that would fit into this world that openly hated everything he stood for?

“Thank you for sharing that.”

“Oh, but of course,” she smiled widely, “it’s really no problem… is there any bit of your day-to-day you’d like to share with Kirkwall?”

He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, Merrill had that effect on him, she was kind and easy to talk to. Shaking his head he continued, “I’m afraid not. Fenris and the others, they keep telling me not to do what I did in Tevinter with Master. They keep telling me to change… no more of my clothes, no more of my behavior,” he hoped he didn’t seem ungrateful for any reason, “it’s so completely strange to me.”

She nodded, “I’m sorry… I’ll never know what it’s like to have gone through what you have.”

“All of you make it sound awful,” the words left his mouth before he had checked them and he immediately regretted saying something so honest.

Merrill didn’t miss a beat, “It is awful. No one should be a slave and treated as if they’re less of a person.”

Some voice inside, likely driven by frustration, pushed back, “In Tevinter it made sense. I would wake and fall into slumber with only one thing ever on my mind - the most beautiful thing in the world: Master. Life was laid out, it made sense and I made sense within that world… and now,” angry confusion was winning, “now it just doesn’t make sense. I’m being asked to choose and make decisions that do not belong to me.”

“It is hard, I know, but that’s what freedom is.”

They looked away from each other for a few minutes, each taking in different directions of the city. That word, freedom, stood out in the human’s mind as he watched a group of young boys chase a dog through an alley. Of course he had heard it. Master had freedom in whether or not he attended an event or wanted to wear a certain ensemble. It implied a choice wherein the decision rested on that person.

What would Anders choose with this freedom? It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the concept of the word, it was that he didn’t understand it whatsoever in his own context. Whether or not he was a slave or had Master didn’t matter - what mattered was that he knew of nothing else. There was no other path or need for discovery, things had always seemed final and he always content with that.

Merrill held out a torn piece of the pastry, the raspberry filling almost dripping out from the inside. He took the sugary treat and ate it slowly, watching the elf turn away and tap her foot as if anxious to continue some form of conversation. This was what you learned as a slave: you learned about others.

He knew his own body language well enough. How he chewed his lip as he navigated difficult situations; his likliness to cry in upsetting circumstances. There was much to learn in this new environment and perhaps it was the calming winds that touched the balcony of the roof but for the first time he felt a desire to discover. Curiosity had always been a flaw of his and it had been beaten out of him many a time… but for a moment, on the roof of all places, he wondered. All these people, they were practically begging him to be curious, ask, and learn. Perhaps he could give in.

“What does your magic feel like?”

Merrill quickly looked over, eyes darting between displays of excitement and caution, “Magic… for me it feels wonderful. When I sleep and can feel its warmth inside me, covering me like a little blanket I feel complete. My dreams can be made reality,” she paused, giving Anders a moment to process her words, “What is it like for you, Anders?”

He knew that the question was coming and even so he gave it more time as he thought of a truthful answer, “I don’t know what it feels like. For so long I was taught to ignore it… when I was younger I,” he closed his eyes hoping he’d remember better, “I had contact with a spirit in my dreams. These days I don’t see them as often, Master worked hard to protect me from them, but before they were… they were everywhere.”

“He protected you from them?”

Anders nodded, “Yes, it was all preventative so that I didn’t hurt him or others. Though, the spirit who sought me out was, well, she was kind. I remember being scared and nervous, I still didn’t know how to read Master and what he wanted; Tevinter itself was also overwhelming. She would hold me at night, rubbing the spot between my shoulder blades that felt,” he shook his head, “that felt good.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me for asking, but how does Tevinter handle mage slaves?”

“I’m not sure if it’s different for others, I was told that it was very uncommon to have a mage slave, likely because they’re more difficult to control,” he quickly grinned at a particular memory that managed to spark, “there were moments of struggle, but I got better at ignoring it over time. The spirit would still visit though, she’d whisper the sweetest things after I’d been disciplined.”

Merrill hung on every word, “Were you trained in magic?”

“Maker no! No, I was briefly assessed by an apprentice to see if I was at risk,” the memories were so faded of that time, “there was discussion briefly that I might be trained due to my skill in attracting spirits while asleep, but Master did not approve.”

“Why would he not? In my clan if a Keeper catches a child with an affinity for magic they too are assessed in such a manner. They then are trained or sent to another clan who can teach them how to properly use their magic.”

Anders thought on that because for it did seem a discrepancy. Master had no children but he had called upon his nephew every summer. The two would take to the gardens and rehearse spells. Anders’ age as compared to the other man were not too different. What had made this nephew a candidate and Anders not? 

Finding no fear in asking the question he turned to Merrill, “Why do I have magic?”

For the first time Merrill felt unequipped to answer, a part of her hoped Hawke would appear and do the fancy talking for her, but her heart ached for the poor, confused man before her. He was not hostile but rather sympathetic and for that reason she wanted to give him the very best answer she could muster. She was just unsure what that was.

“Anders…” she swallowed harder than she meant, “I can’t tell you the answer to that. I’ve always told myself that I have magic because the Gods have wished it so in order for me to regain our Dalish history,” it wasn’t enough, “I do not know why anyone gains this ability but it is a gift, nonetheless, not something to forgo… also not something to abuse.”

He stared at his hands, when he focused he could feel the voices of his dreams guiding him. There was little instruction on where he should focus their power and words of guidance but with no one here to distract him from their call - it suddenly felt louder than ever.

“I’m sorry I keep asking questions,” it felt too personal and as if he were voicing words that normally were only meant for himself, “without Master I-I,” he felt a lump clutch his throat for it crushed him to verbalize that reality yet again, “I just don’t understand what my purpose is… Why do I live?”

She knew, Merrill knew, that there were sometimes words shared that could break your heart just by hearing them uttered. This was one such instance and she struggled to find her voice as she stared at a person who was worthy of so much more than was ever given to them in life, “Destiny,” she breathed in, “some days that is all I can say to myself. I fail, my friends fail me. The world continues even when I will it to stop. But we all have a destiny, Anders, one that by some strange force unbeknownst to anyone we are constantly pushed towards.”

“What is my destiny? How can I have one if the world I felt was mine is no longer so?”

Varric came to mind as she attempted to navigate, “It’s all a book, one page at a time. The hero might be a bastard nobody on page one only to find they are to become king of the lands in the next chapter. We can never know what we are in for, but we can try to steer ourselves in positive endeavors.”

The human’s face scrunched as he remembered a phrase once uttered by Master on a particularly bad evening, “When one door closes another one opens.”

“Exactly!” She grinned widely, “I can’t say it much better than that. Even though something awful happened to you, there’s a new door to walk through, a new chapter, and you have to keep walking forward.”

He nodded, taking the words to heart, “Where is forward for me?”

“You have to decide that,” she watched him turn his attention away, “but I think you’re already doing a lot of good things putting you on a good path forward. You’re learning to be your own man, your own person. It’s quite admirable.”

“You make it look easy, Merrill,” he did genuinely want to find some peace in his new world, and this seemed as sure a way as any, “how do I go about figuring this all out?”

He watched as the elf’s eyes gleamed, in their own they were something to behold; great globes of wonder and amazement. The corners of her mouth couldn’t help but turn upwards as she pushed the conversation towards its new, exciting hilt, “You ask questions. That’s all I did when I first moved here. Hawke had to explain what a privy was on three separate occasions before I fully understood them,” she paused only to catch her breath, “Figure out what intrigues you, what you want to know and participate in and then do it.”

“You’re quite motivational,” he couldn’t help but admire the woman, “I suppose to answer that question what I need to know is how I can serve? Slavery, as you’ve said, is not present here in Kirkwall, but there must be a way I can use myself to benefit another. That is what I wish.”

“So,” she tried to find a positive in something so easily made negative, “you’re looking to find a job! You’ve already proven to be quick at tidying homes and are a great company - perhaps you can continue to work as a house servant. You’d get paid, have time off --”

“Would Fenris have me?”

“Oh,” she had been taken by surprise, “well, why do you ask for him specifically? He can be quite grumpy at times.”

Anders picked at some dirt under his nails but smiled, “I don’t know, but I like serving him. It’s… it’s hard for me to put my finger on it.”

Merrill watched the man carefully as he spoke, in his face she could see someone smitten and because of this, she couldn’t help but giggle to herself. Romance was always a funny thing, especially for the casual observer. She hadn’t noticed it with Fenris and Anders, but the concept of love and flirting was still odd, new and challenging for her. 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea if he’ll have you,” she noted the panicked eyes with which Anders shot her, “I’m sure after a bit of time he’d be keen to keep you around, Anders. All of us quite like you.”

Those were words that filled him up with something warm. They were like the praise from Master and his guests, and yet somewhat different. Casual, open. She was not asking for anything in return or responding to anything in particular - it was as simple as being an endearment.

“Thank you,” he tried not to read too much into it, “I appreciate all the time you all are devoting to me.”

They spoke for what must have been hours more on the balcony, pausing only to peruse the larder for something to eat and then resuming their conversation. It ranged from the most banal to the challenging. They spoke of dreaming and the Fade, of slaves and freedom. Merrill had a different perspective than the others, being new to Kirkwall’s culture in a similar fashion as to Anders. 

And they bonded.

They bonded over pretty Dalish tattoos and long human hair, Anders’ long skirt and Merrill’s painted toes. By late evening Merrill was wearing a new ensemble and Anders donned a long Dalish braid. The two enjoyed each other’s company, both were the type to ask questions and seek new perspectives so the discussions never ran dry.

As they spoke of the future, wherein Merrill hoped to bring Anders to the Sundermount so that she might teach him new magicks, they were interrupted. 

Loud, heavy thumping rang throughout the house as armor and feet collapsed onto the floors. Merrill sprang from her seat and beckoned Anders to follow. The pair came as quickly as they could to the scene transpiring in the foyer. Varric was helping drag a badly bloodied Fenris to a chair as Isabela offered an arm of support to a stumbling Hawke.

“What happened?” Merrill practically flew down the stairs to help the group settle.

“Oh, I’ll tell you what happened!” Hawke growled as Isabela helped him sit in one of the open chairs, “The Followers of She jumped us,” he practically yelled as Isabela moved to prop his foot on a small stool, “thanks for all the help on those traps, by the way…”

“Don’t blame me,” she huffed, “you’re the one who ran right into that room like a fool.”

“Give me a break, Isabela --”

“Hey!” They both turned to look at the dwarf who was trying to treat a burn on Fenris’ side, “One of you stop arguing and go find a healer.”

The pirate glared, “I’m sure you mean me but where pray tell do I find a healer at this hour… shall I just waltz into the Gallows and steal one under nightfall?”

Again the conversation was broken by a pained yell, this one from Fenris. He was breathing heavily as he grasped at the burn, “I do not want a mage touching me…”

Isabela shook her head, “So you’re going to sit there and die? Grand plan, all of you.”

“Shit, broody,” Varric began peeling off some of the elf’s armor, the fabric near the wound seemed burned into the his skin, “this looks really bad.”

“Fenris?”

Hawke opened a small pouch near his belt, “I only have two poultices left. They’re weak and I need one for my foot. We won’t have enough.”

“Then someone has to go out and buy more…”

“Then that someone needs money from a lot of people,” Isabela snapped back, “I still haven’t been paid from the last job.”

“Oh, you’ll get your money,” she slapped his foot and he yelled, “Shit!”

“Fenris?”

He felt himself growing more fatigued and faint by the minute, but he had heard the voice uttering his name. Fenris looked at the human standing at his side, patiently waiting, “Anders… what?”

“May I…” he breathed deeply, terrified of “no” but feeling confident after speaking for so long with Merrill, “May I please heal you?”

The room grew quiet as all stared at the duo’s exchange. Fenris looked into that face for a good moment, and in that moment he felt scared. Scared for everything that might change if he allowed this… and didn’t.

“Y-yes, Anders,” there was a pause, “you may heal me.”

Anders fell to his knees, Varric moving away with no words. The man quickly undid the elf’s coat, staring at the beautiful body he had been lusting over. Carefully he removed the armor straps and weapons, leaving a disrobed elf.

“I need you to lie down,” his voice was calming and he hoped it would help Fenris’ tense posture, “I’m going to heal this burn, it might hurt at first but it will feel warm once the skin starts growing back.”

Fenris felt himself shaking as Anders’ hands lit with magic, he urged to crawl away, slap the hands back before they touched him, “N-no…”

“Shh,” Anders quietly locked eyes with Fenris, “You should tell me about your day today.”

That took Fenris aback and then it made sense as the healing magic touched him: the man was trying to distract him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, “We were out clearing the roads of bandits and,” he tensed as Anders began tying the charred nerves back together, “and we were helping the guardsmen with a runaway fugitive.”

Anders looked down into Fenris’ eyes and smiled, it was brief, but all the reassurance the elf needed as the mage took charge, “Your day sounds like it was much more adventurous than mine. All Merrill and I did was clean, cook and do our hair. Quite domestic.”

“Your hair…” he had started the compliment but wasn’t sure how to finish it, “it looks n-nice.”

“Thank you,” the man got back to work, knowing that his current task was most pressing, “this is a nasty burn. That mage must not have liked you much?”

“No, he didn’t,” Fenris closed his eyes as Anders continued, the man was right… the healing felt warm, like an embrace he never wanted to leave. They met eyes once more, “He met my blade, though, worry not.”

Anders ran his fingers over the newly grafted skin, it was soft and slightly pink but healed for all intents and purposes, “You’re all better now.”

“Blondie,” Varric leaned down to observe Anders’ work, “those are some incredible hands you have right there,” he began to chuckle, “think you can do anything with this knot in my neck?”

Naturally the man nodded, but not before Hawke could voice his pain, “The order dictates me next, Anders.”

“Of course,” he bowed his head and occupied himself with Hawke’s leg, not as bad as Fenris’ but dangerous if left unchecked. This was a different wound entirely, the puncture wounds were deep but not as festering - there must have been a clean pull away from whatever object was the culprit.

Hawke grinned as Anders’ healing magic washed over, “You’re quite talented for someone who knows so little of their magic.”

“Thank you,” he continued knotting the skin back together, “Master took great care to make sure I knew how to aid him.”

“That much is clear,” Hawke leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head as if relaxing, “we should hire you to be our healer when we’re taking quests. You know my sister is a mage,” he spotted the piqued interest in Anders’ face at that, “with her stuck in the gallows we’re currently looking for a new person to fill that role.”

Anders looked up at that and he thought back on his conversation with Merrill, “I enjoy helping others and such a task would be an enjoyable one,” he looked between all the companions in the room, “and it would be a nice way to give back for your hospitality.”

“I think that’d be a wonderful idea, “Merrill smiled, “I would advise he learn more of magic outside of healing, however. As of now all he knows is creation which is quite impressive by itself as that is a challenging skill to learn. Still, lessons in spirit and primal might help him with his understanding of the fade.”

“Merrill, that was a whole bunch of magical nonsense to almost all of the people in the room.”

“And I do not approve of it,” Fenris had pulled himself into a sitting pose, “magic spoils all that it touches, perhaps he is better without letting it ruin him.”

Hawke flexed his leg as Fenris spoke, noting how good it felt to do so, “And who made you his master? If he chooses to learn, then he learns,” he turned towards Fenris and though it was not meant as an aggressive gesture that is the only way it could have been perceived, “I thought you were the one all for giving him choice?”

“Fine!” Fenris stood and an unspoken tension permeated the room, “but you all know my opinions on the matter,” he carefully lowered his voice, hoping it was not unbecoming of him, “I think it is time we all retire. It’s… been a long day.”

“Agreed,” the man stood as the others gathered their items. He intended to do the same when an opportunity became known to him, “Besides, I expect all of us to get our beauty sleep and look our best at my party. It should be a good time,” he placed his hand on Anders, using him for balance, “my leg is still a little unstable, Anders, not that I blame you for it - would you mind handing me my sword there?”

No one was watching, all too absorbed in their own preparations. As Anders bent over to grab the weapon Hawke edged forward, placing his hands on the man’s rear where he caressed it. His large hand took in all it could, giving it a proper feel before patting it and stepping back.

Anders turned, hoping the slightly surprised blush on his face wasn’t present. The large man, amused at what he had gotten away with smiled fiercely in return, “I truly hope you attend the party, Anders. It’d be a shame if I didn’t get to see you dance in one of your outfits.”

The jolt through his body and into his loins was most unexpected, but he couldn’t argue that it wasn’t a nice feeling to have been touched so. His voice had seemingly fled him as he stared into the handsome amber eyes, “I thank you for your kindness.”

“I hear the Tevinters have a lovely dance that they do with just a staff and twenty-five silk scarves… naturally I presume the performer is nude.”

“So often you sound fond of Tevinter, Hawke,” Fenris scoffed as he snatched his gold from Varric’s hand, “perhaps you should move there and see it for yourself.”

The man shrugged, cunning and calculating eyes staring deep into the elf’s, “One day, maybe… for now though it seems you’ve built yourself a piece of Tevinter right here in Kirkwall, all for yourself.”

“How dare you insinuate,” his hand pointed at the other warrior, both moving their feet slightly as if seeking a more tactical pose.

“Enough of it,” Isabela yelled as she moved between the men, “you two are absolutely awful and to this day I still do not understand where you’re rivalry even begins and why it continues to fester. Either whip out your pricks and see who’s bigger or leave it be for sanity’s sake.”

Hawke chuckled lowly, “Isabela, you’ve seen us both enough times to know who’s bigger…”

There was no smile. She shook her head as she moved to leave, “Sometimes, Hawke, you just need to know when to shut up.”

Varric, quickly trying to salvage his friends’ friendships, stepped in, “We’ve all had a long day. Broody you go upstairs and enjoy a little more of that healing magic so you’re all good and dandy for tomorrow and Hawke and I will continue to nurse our wounds at the Hanged Man after walking Daisy home. Doesn’t that sound like a good plan for everybody?”

“The voice of reason, Varric,” Hawke shared one more look with Anders, watching for a reaction at his departure, before tucking through the back entrance with the two remaining companions.

Fenris remained, unsure of what to make of everything or the day of work he had just been released from. He leaned on the chair Hawke had been using, staring at the ground with an intense curiosity as he attempted to place thoughts here and there. It wasn’t until he heard a faint scratching that he turned to acknowledge the present.

Anders was on the floor, draped over Fenris’ pool of blood with a rag, carefully rubbing back and forth as he attacked the stain. Without thought Anders had continued going about the task that had been given to him - as if he wasn’t dismissed for the day.

“You’re done,” the finality in the voice startled the man on the floor and Fenris was forced to clarify, “when I come home for the day you are done with your work. Even if it is unfinished I want you to… have time to relax.”

He nodded, “Understood,” without looking up he spoke again, “I have some soup resting on the fire, if you have a mind for dinner.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he shook his head, “Merrill and I had been cleaning most of the day and had just recently put the pot over there.”

Fenris took a deep breath, bothered by not only how his conversations with Hawke were repeatedly going but also between him and Anders. And so he waited patiently as the man scurried from the kitchen to the dining room, preparing what he could. The questions continued to mount and he knew they would blow into something worse if he didn’t answer them, that’s how it always went. Why were him and Hawke so antagonistic lately? Was Danarius’ death still too fresh? It seemed every day Hawke was pushing him more… but to what end?

“Fenris,” his thoughts were interrupted and at that moment with the smell of a fresh soup in the air he truly was taken by hunger, “the dinner is ready.”

“Have you prepared a bowl for yourself?”

“Do you…”

“I want you to eat with me,” he sighed, hoping the language was as correct as it could be, “it would please me to share a meal.”

Anders nodded, smiling to himself at what could only be a gift for his behavior. The bowls were aligned carefully, he had switched them a few times over just to be sure, but he had remembered enough from the fancy meals he shared back in Tevinter. He waited as Fenris took control of the soup pot, pouring them each two large heaping bowls.

“It smells quite good.”

“Thank you,” he wanted to gush at the compliment for he received so few from Fenris, “It was Merrill’s recipe. She said that her Keeper would make it for her when she was feeling upset.”

Fenris looked up from his bowl, “Were one of you upset today?”

“No,” Anders shook his head, now lifting his own spoon, “today we actually spoke of our homes and what it’s like to live in Kirkwall.”

“Really?” He was genuinely interested in what the pair had talked about. It seemed everyone Anders spent time with eventually fell smitten for him. Was it the gratefulness people were attracted to, or something else? Again, Fenris couldn’t tell.

“She described her first days in Kirkwall, leaving her home… we also discussed magic and dreams,” he paused for a moment, “she told me that I am equal to Master.”

“What do you think of that?”

Anders stilled himself and he was quiet, “I don’t know. What do you think of it?”

The emotions tied to that charged question surged through him as he angrily pounded the table, “Why do you ask? For I am a slave? You naturally believe I am going to view myself the lesser?”

The man shook his head, “Fenris, please, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“You are just like Hawke, always pestering me about my past… you might even be worse: a walking reminder. And even better than that, a mage slave just set on mocking me.”

It was Anders’ turn to talk but he didn’t want to. He had seen Master like this, pent up rage and all. At the end of the day, Anders didn’t mind being the one he took it out on. If it made the man he followed feel better that was all that mattered.

“I’m sorry I’m a mage. I don’t even fully understand what that means,” Fenris immediately softened at those words as he realized what he had said but he wasn’t allowed to rectify it just yet, “I want you to be happy. I think I understand now why I am so drawn to you and I hope you do not take offense. You remind me of Master.”

There was a lump the size of a fist stuck in his throat as Fenris struggled to speak, “I remind you of a magister?”

“Not a magister, Master. Warm, leading, strong, handsome, I suppose I could go on. He got frustrated just as easily as you did some days.”

It had been so long since he was as emotional as he was in that moment. He could feel his eyes wet with tears that he so desperately felt the need to hold back, “I am not a slave and I will never,” it hurt to speak and he struggled, “ever be a master to anyone.”

“You are Fenris, not Master.”

One of the haunting questions began to click and it broke something inside of him to come to terms with it, “You are Anders, not a Magister.”


End file.
